Spoils of War
by Sereq ieh Dashret
Summary: AU. Ronan survives the Infinity Stone. The realization of what he has done hits him harder than any blow and the journey to atonement passes through giving himself up in servitude to the people who have brought him low. He doesn't imagine that living with a group of bounty hunters will challenge his ideas of freedom, justice and self so completely. Eventual Ronan/StarLord/Gamora
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

This fic is a response to a (quite old) prompt in the GotG Livejournal Kinkmeme. The prompt was:

Ronan survives the end of the movie and ends up blasted half across the planet. The Guardians happen across him before the authorities do and as part of the "Some good/some bad" and judicious application of Kree cultural norms involving war prizes/loot, results in Ronan boarding the ship and being surprisingly docile/obedient which weirds out everyone but Gamora. Points if the cultural norms is kinda sorta untranslatable but could be interpreted as a shotgun wedding, sort of. And Ronan is the bride. Points++ if Ronan is naturally sub in bed, but this is one area he is reluctant to admit to/deal with. He has no problems scrubbing Peter's filthy ship by hand, but admitting he likes spreading his legs for another man or woman and being dominated in bed? Nope, cannot do it.

I am twisting the terms of the prompt a bit to allow for more angst and some flashback, but the result will be along those lines.

Will contain large amounts of angst, introspection, suicidal thoughts, honor/shame dichotomy, conversations about cultural norms and sexuality and, finally, redemption. And did I mention smut? I should, because there will be.  
Eventual StarLord/Ronan/Gamora.

Warning: violence.

* * *

The blinding purple light fades. Everything goes dark for a time he cannot quantify. Then there is pain.  
Ronan the Accuser realizes he is still alive, if barely. Everything hurts, he can barely breathe for the pain. He struggles to remember where he is, how did he get there and what has happened to him, but his mind draws a big, empty blank. He might have a bad concussion, among other things, he thinks feebly. He feels weak and helpless, and he doesn't like the feeling at all.  
Like a black, sticky tide, the memories from that afternoon, so many years before, try to invade his mind...  
_... screams of terror and the bomb dropping through the ceiling, and more screams, of agony, as the temple burns and everyone inside burns with it, and falling,through the window and out of the inferno, and lying in the rubble for hours until the rescue teams find him, close enough to death that it would have been better for him to die..._

"No!" he growls, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. He is the Accuser, he cannot afford to be weak, especially not now, when he doesn't even remember where he is, if he is in hostile territory or not. Panic has no place in his life.

Voices approach, footsteps crunch on the rubble. He knows those voices. The tattooed brute, the furry creature, Gamora, and the blue-eyed Terran, the one who called himself Star-Lord. There should be a plant-being with them, but his voice is missing.  
His memories are all confused, but one thing emerges with crystal clarity. They have defeated him. They are the reason why he is sprawling on a mass of rubble, in pain and confusion. They are coming to finish the job.  
Ronan welcomes it. Something in the back of his mind tells him that he doesn't want for his memories to reassert themselves, he doesn't want to know how did he end up like that.  
Better to finish it now, he thinks, but a Kree of his standing does not die sprawling on his back like an upturned turtle. He will die standing, and fighting back, if possible.  
Attempting to move floods him with exquisite agony, but somehow he manages to push himself on his knees first and then to his feet, supporting himself with a half-collapsed section of wall.  
Just in time, because the self-styled Guardians of the Galaxy have arrived, carrying weapons, and are none too happy to see him.

"You?! - screeches the furry creature, furious and incredulous - Why can't you just die, you crazy blue fucker!" he yells.  
He is carrying a gun almost as big as he is, and clearly illegal under several articles of both Kree and Xandarian law.  
Ronan remembers being shot by the creature with no ill effect, but now his armour is cracked and missing several pieces. If he takes a direct hit, he will go down.  
All the Guardians look ready to pounce on him, more or less, but he bets on the furry creature to be the one to actually do the deed.

He is wrong. The tattooed brute launches himself at him, bare-handed and full of rage to the point of incoherence.  
Ronan remembers fighting him before, how easily he could anticipate his movements, how his blows could not harm him.  
Good times. Now he can barely see the blows coming, and parrying hurts as much as taking the blows.  
The brute hits him on the jaw. He ends up sprawling again.  
Somehow he manages to get to his feet once more, but Drax, yes, his name is Drax, is upon him once more and this time when he goes down, he cannot muster the force to move again.  
This doesn't discourage Drax, though. The brute is more than happy to kick him when he's down.  
Typical, Ronan thinks, trying curl up and protect his face and middle. He should not expect non-Kree to have even a bit of honour.

"You have killed my wife! - Drax shouts - You have killed my daughter!"  
Ronan has killed so many people that he hardly remembers how many, let alone their names or their faces, but the man's claims ring a bell somewhere deep, or maybe it's an effect of the blows the man is raining upon him.  
It feels like there is not a single intact bone in his body, and he knows that even if he is trying to take the beating in silence, the cries and gasps he is hearing are his own.  
He knows he has wronged this man, wronged him grievously. This is a fitting punishment, but he wishes it will be over soon, because it is more than he can endure with dignity.

It is over in the end, but not because of his death.  
"Drax, stop! You are going to kill him like that!" a voice shouts. It is the Terran.  
He hears a commotion. Gamora must have joined his efforts to contain the brute.  
"That was my intention!" Drax shouts back.  
"Yeah, Quill, what's the deal? - the furry creature demands - Why don't we just off the genocidal nutcase and get on with it? We did want to kill him when we blasted him with the Infinity Stone."  
"That was an emergency! - Star-Lord replies - If we kill him now, like this, he becomes a martyr for all those other Kree nutjobs down in Hala! We'll never see the end of it." Star-Lord replies.  
Oh, Ronan thinks with dread, this Terran is too smart for anyone's good. Except that he has no one left back home who would exact revenge for his death, but this is something the Terran cannot know.

"But he'll be dead regardless!" the furry creature retorts, still quite upset.  
"Rocket, you asshat!" another voice yells. It is Gamora.  
"Dying is quick. - she explains - He'll suffer much more if he's stuck in a Xandarian prison." she adds.  
Cruel, cruel Gamora. She knows him well enough to know that this is what he fears most.  
There is a startled intake of breath, then a giggle. "I see your point. Fine. Let's haul him back to Xandar, then." Rocket agrees.  
"I am in agreement too." Drax's voice booms, a bit dejectedly.

Ronan tries to crawl away, to find a weapon and top himself before they can catch him, but Star-Lord's footsteps crunch on the rubble and then he is kicked on his back by a booted foot.  
"No crawling away, naughty boy!" the Terran exclaims. Ronan strives to look up. The bright light almost blinds him, creating a halo behind the Terran's head. Even so, he can tell Star-Lord is smiling. It is not a nice smile. Ronan dreads what is going to come next, but he cannot prevent it.  
"You are our prisoner now_." _Star-Lord declares and inside Ronan's head a voice starts going "No! No! No! No!".  
He has just been claimed as _haaq_ by a non-Kree. Could there be a worse fate?  
"Don't worry, buddy. We'll take good care of you." Star-Lord adds, then his foot moves in an arc, landing squarely on his temple.  
Pain explodes in his head, then darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

This chapter contains a lot of headcanon about the Kree/Xandar war and Kree culture.

In the comics, the Kree are often on the opposite side from the heroes, but they are not card-carrying villains, and Ronan himself has a few heroic moments and is a rather likable character if a bit stiff.

The movie has portrayed the whole thing as a black/white issue, but I don't like those, so I'm changing things a bit, making everything a bit grayer. So, expect the Xandarians to be a bit more morally questionable, and the Kree to be a bit less bloodthirsty.

I am making up Kree society based on Feudal Japanese, Spartan and Prussian societies, with a dash of Ancient Egypt thrown in for the concept of Pama (which is the Kree equivalent of Ma'at) and the penchant for smashing people's heads with a mace. Ceremonial maces were very important in Protodynastic Egypt and the so-called "smiting scene" is one of the longest-lived motifs in Ancient Egyptian art. It basically depicts the pharaoh smashing the enemy of Egypt with a big frikkin' mace. Rings a bell, doesn't it?

If the Kree come across as a bit stiff and archaic, very fond of traditions and rituals, I've done my job well.

Also, Ronan might end up looking a bit like Inspector Javert in space. That is also intentional and closer to his portrayal in the comics.

Enjoy!

* * *

It is not until he wakes up in a hospital in Xandar that the memories of what he has done in the last year or so (ever since that ridiculously offensive treaty has been signed) hit him like a spaceship set at ramming speed.

It is a good thing he is tied securely to the hospital bed, because his despair is so great at the realisation of how far he has strayed from the Path of Pama, that if he had had half a chance, he would have taken his own life.

It is a good thing that he cannot. As Gamora has said, dying would have been too great a mercy for him, even dying a criminal's death under the hammer of one of his fellow Accusers. His punishment is to live with the knowledge of what he has done, that he has failed his people on a cosmic level and forsaken any shred of honor he might have had.

He had set out on the path of rebellion to right a grievous wrong against his people, to punish the criminals who had killed so many innocents, and redress the imbalance in the conditions of the treaty between Kree and Xandar, but he has ended up being a worse criminal than the people he wanted to punish.

His original plan had been to obtain a suitable deterrent to force the Xandarians to renegotiate the parameters of the treaty, possibly capture the people responsible for the war crimes against the Kree and punish them. The latter he has managed to bring to partial fruition, but the former...  
He has ended up killing civilians by the drove, just to prove his loyalty to Thanos, he has nearly obliterated all life on Xandar, and finally he has delivered the ultimate military deterrent to Xandar and besmirched the image of his people, possibly beyond repair.

From the grave, his ancestors must be spitting on him. He is no longer worthy of the title of Accuser, he is not worthy of being a scion of his ancient House. He deserves to be _haaq_ to a posse of interstellar criminals. He deserves all sorts of dishonour and abuse to be heaped upon him for a lifetime.  
The physical pain of his broken bones and wounded flesh is nothing to the agony of his spirit.

Days pass in isolation. The Xandarian medical personnel tends to his wounds, but make no attempts to talk to him. He wishes they did, if only to insult him and berate him. He spends his days fighting the painkillers, concentrating on the pain to stay awake, because as soon as the pain fades and he slips into sleep or unconsciousness, the flashbacks start. It is the hospital: the sounds, the smells, the helplessness and the sense of guilt are the same as they were last time, and they bring it all back.

* * *

His parents marry for love, a rare occurrence for two Kree of high standing. His father is a soldier, an officer in the army, wounded in action against the Xandarians, his mother the surgeon who had replaces his lost arm with cybernetics. They recklessly fall in love and, taken by passion like lower beings, conceive their first child, him, out of wedlock.

When they turn to the Ancients to have their match retrospectively approved, it turns out that they have an incredibly high level of genetic compatibility, and would have been likely paired up with each other if they had requested to be assigned a mate. So they marry, and even if it is a bit of a scandal at the time, when he is born, hale and healthy, it is completely forgotten by everyone. Well, almost everyone. His grandfather, a stern traditionalist and a soldier himself, is still none too happy about the match and always considers his mother a social climber and an easy woman, for she is not from one of the ancient Houses and he would have wanted a much more prestigious match for his son.

None of that matters though, because his parents love each other dearly and passionately. Kree are not normally a very fertile species, especially the Blue upper castes, but by the time he is six years old and ready for the induction ceremony for young cadets at the Great Temple of Pama on Hala, his three-year-old, incredibly loud, little brother Rory is there to wish him well, and his mother is heavy with a third child. She wishes to have a daughter, this time.

They are all standing there in the Temple, alongside the highest military and civilian authorities, and are listening to the High Priest as he speaks of Pama and of the virtues of justice, fairness, loyalty and mercy that descend from the Supreme Principle, when the Xandarian bombers makes a pass over the city.  
They drop a cluster of incendiary bombs over the Great Temple and go. The roof breaks, and the building starts to burn from the liquid fire released by the bombs. They are all burning.  
Some liquid drips on him. His clothes catch on fire immediately, and he screams and screams. The pain is unbelievable.  
His father is a great soldier, though, able to think on his feet even in the most dire situations. He grabs his son with his metal hand and throws him out of the window, down into the ornamental pond, quenching the fire.  
Ronan imagines that they would have all jumped after him, his father his mother and Rory, but the roof caves in, turning the Temple into a burning tomb.

All of this, he learns much later, in the hospital.  
Almost all his skin has been burned off and not even the strongest painkillers can ease his agony. Through the delirium, he hears one of the doctors suggest to his grandfather that it would be more merciful to put him to sleep, that even if the stem cell grafts take and his skin re-grows, he might become insane from the pain and the trauma.  
His grandfather tells that he doesn't care as long as he survives to adulthood to continue the family line. He says his father should have saved himself, instead of sacrificing his life for the whelp of a lowlife tart.  
He spends more than a year in hospital, but, slowly, his body heals. His skin grows back, a smooth, perfect blue like before. His hair unfortunately does not, leaving him completely bald, as if victim of some serious illness.

He goes to live with his grandfather, on Kree-Lar where the holdings of his House are situated.  
There is a big, empty mansion and lots of fields. He had been used to company and to the affection of his parents, but his grandfather is an old-fashioned Kree nobleman and has no time for a child. He appoints a tutor for him, to put him at least partially up to speed with the education he has missed.  
Ronan tries his hardest, but it seems it is never enough. His father at his age was smarter, tougher, braver. Everything he can do, he could do better, or at least that is what his grandfather says.

He misses his family, but his grandfather tolerates no weakness, and soon he learns not to cry and not to scream when he wakes up in the night, dreaming of fire.  
He does not know why the gods have made him survive, why him instead of his father. There must be a purpose to his life, but he doesn't know it and his heart aches with he finally starts the cadet program, two years later than he should have, he is relieved of being finally free from him.  
The relief is short-lived, though. He knows no one there, all his friends are either dead or still on Hala, and the children at the Academy are none too friendly with him. He is evidently older, and from the capital, and different. Some of the bolder ones ask him if he is a retard, others whisper that he must be half-breed.  
He would like to tell them the reason why he is there and why he is different, but his grandfather has forbidden him to "play the victim" any further by speaking of the accident. The world has moved on, he says.

He hasn't, though. He has seen no funerals, no commemoration speeches.  
He was fighting for his life, he had had hardly any time to mourn and grieve. His grandfather does not understand his need to elaborate his loss on his own terms. He condemns it as a weakness, instead, and in time Ronan accepts that he has no right to ask for any conditions of favor because of his history, that by talking about it he makes himself weak and pitiful, unworthy.

He keeps quiet, then. He is lonely, and desperate to prove himself to his grandfather.  
He studies hard, trains even harder, much harder than the rest of the kids in the first class. Halfway through the year they move him to the second class. He finishes with honours.  
By the end of his second year, he has not a single friend to his name, but he has recovered the two lost years and is on par with the rest of the boys his age.  
He has no reason to mention the accident anymore. He has pushed the memories in a corner of his mind. They are contained there and only emerge at night, sometimes.  
He is ashamed of those nightmares.

He is ten years old when he realizes that his grandfather has lied to him. People are still talking about the "accident".  
They talk about it continuously, in their debates and in the essays written for the Army. He learns that the orbital protection system has failed that day, possibly jammed by the enemy, and that the Xandarians still refuse to admit responsibility for the non-combatant victims of their so-called "surgical strikes".  
They claim the Kree have been using the cadets as sentient shields for sensitive military targets, that they have done nothing wrong.  
They lie.  
The Kree military have different names to call what the Xandarians have done: terrorism, war crimes.

Finally Ronan understands why the ancestors had made him live. He lives to redress that wrong, to bring justice to the criminals who destroyed everything he had. He will become an Accuser, something that not even his father or his grandfather have managed.  
It is a hard path, but now that he knows what his purpose is, he spends days and nights preparing for it and when at fifteen he is awarded the hammer of an Accuser, the youngest to be so rewarded in the last century or so, he finally sees pride in his grandfather's eyes. He doesn't demonstrate it, there are no parties, but he leads him to the crypts of the House, and hands over to him the Universal Weapon, the hammer used by all the Accusers of his line. It is a great boon.  
Ronan is happy, he finally finds a semblance peace.

For fifteen years he fights against the Xandarians, rapidly rising through the ranks. He is impartial and incorruptible. He has nothing else but his calling. He serves well.  
He never forgets his self-imposed mission, though.  
Relentlessly, he ferrets out the names of the pilots who dropped the bombs on the Great Temple and several other civilian targets, then the officers who gave the order, then the senior military who approved the battle plan. He talks to the survivors, fewer and fewer as the years pass and the guilt of being still alive when so many have died gets to them, he leaves no stone unturned, until finally he has proof enough to incriminate them all.

Meanwhile, the strategy of the Xandarians evolves from "surgical strikes" to "targeted eliminations" of enemy leaders. His grandfather is among them. The Xandarians hit him with a missile while he is in one of the outermost Imperial outposts, surveying the plantations. There is hardly enough of him left to bury.  
The Xandarians seem determined to prevent their dead to commune with the Ancients and keep serving the Empire.  
Ronan has never truly loved his grandfather, but he was the only thing he had left. He adds that crime to the list.  
There will be a reckoning.

Finally, the Xandarians, unable to prevail on the field of battle and to bend the will of the Kree with their crimes, decide to switch to an economic war.  
They convince the neutral potentates to stop trading with the Kree Empire, telling them lies about slavery and mistreatment of prisoners, about religious persecution and other assorted behaviour that, if true, would be totally contrary to the teachings of Pama.  
They do take _haaq_, of course, but they are treated mercifully, and the laws about interbreeding are there for a reason. The Blue Kree are so few because of the war, that no drop of blood can be wasted by watering down the bloodlines. And the other gods are obviously puny compared to the Supreme Being, but this doesn't concern the Kree. They don't care if other people know no wisdom.

The Xandarian ruse works, though, and soon the economy starts to falter. They win on the battlefield, but the war becomes unsustainable.  
There are talks of a treaty, of peace. Ronan realises that the people are tired of fighting. His is the third generation of Kree born during the war. It is time that it winds to a close.  
Ronan partecipates to the negotiations. He is now Supreme Accuser, part for his merits, part for his stubborn refusal to die even after so many assassination attempts have claimed the lives of colleagues and superiors.  
A scion of House Fiyero is head of the council at the time. He has been taken as a _haaq_ by the Xandarians during the war and spent several years on Xandar before the Xandarians let him go. He heads the negotiations, being the one who knows Xandarian culture best.

As he sits at the negotiations table, Ronan recognizes some faces. They are the ones who gave the order for the "surgical strikes".  
He calls them out for it, he cannot help it. His skin feels like it is burning under his armour and the screams resonate in his ears.  
"I will not sit down at a table and negotiate with war criminals!" he says, then proceeds to throw in those people's faces all the crimes they have committed.  
Instead of supporting him, the other Kree delegates reprimand him for insulting the Xandarians delegates.  
He should not dig up misunderstandings from the past, they say. It is time to turn the page, to forgive and forget, and move on to a new era of prosperity with their new partners, the Xandarians.

But he cannot forget, those crimes are branded onto his skin and into his mind, and he cannot forgive thousands of innocent lives shattered like cheap earthenware, an entire generation of children obliterated, the Empire's most sacred place desecrated.  
He cannot, and he tells them so, shouting in rage against the Xandarians.  
He storms out of the meeting room and runs away.  
To vent his anger, he goes to the holographic training rooms of the Academy. He sets up the holograms to bear the face of those officers. He smashes them for hours, but it is hardly satisfying, so he keeps on going until he is so tired that he can no longer lift his hammer.  
When he emerges from the Academy, the treaty has already been signed, in record time.  
The population rejoices. Everybody is tired of the war.

Their joy only lasts until the text of the treaty is published, though.  
Most of those who read it, realize that something has gone horribly wrong during the negotiations and the Xandarians have managed to push several items that threaten to destroy the Kree way of life.  
Opening of the Imperial market to free import and export, privatization of the land, authorization for foreign companies to open branches in the Empire.  
The Xandarians have obtained a significant foothold into the until-then protected Kree economy. Combined with the general economic crisis engendered by the war, this can mean the dispossession of the lower castes, poverty and even famine in some places.  
It is not likely to affect the upper castes, but it is contrary to Pama nonetheless.

Riots spark throughout the Empire and the Council sends the Army to suffocate them. Many officers, among which Ronan is one of the most vocal, refuse to obey. They march to the Council and demand the renegotiation of the terms of the treaty.  
The Council refuses. "It is impossible. - they say - The Xandarians are ready to let us starve if we don't sign."  
Ronan wants to tell them that it would be better to die than to stray from the path of virtue, but soon realizes that the Council cannot take that decision, even if they wanted. It would be just delaying the inevitable.  
The Imperial Army could still wipe out the Nova Corps in battle, but the cowards refuse to meet them in the open field. The war cannot be sustained.  
Sooner or later they will have to sue for peace. Better to do it now, the conditions could be even worse later.  
They cannot win, but Ronan refuses to think that there is no other way. If there isn't he will find one, no matter what.

He goes rogue and a few other officers go rogue with him. Korath, a lower-caste chief of scouts in charge of the auxiliaries, stays with him through thick and thin.  
They appropriate one of the big cruiser-carriers, the Dark Aster, and get out of Kree space as fast as they can. No one moves to intercept. The people of the Empire is still with them.  
The Xandarians believe the Kree to be cruel zealots. He will give them what they want.  
He will put up a show they will not forget. He will have them cowering in fear, he vows, as he leaves his home, maybe to never return.

They contact Thanos, the universal bogeyman, confined to a pocket dimension on a shattered asteroid, asking his support in exchange for their services.  
Ronan fully intends to ditch the Mad Titan as soon as his objective is attained, but, in the meantime, Thanos requests his services more and more often, asking him to kill, to destroy wantonly.  
He has pledged his services, and his honour compels him to serve, even if what he is tasked to do is contrary to Pama.  
He tells himself that he is doing that for his people, to bring justice to the dead and the living, and forces himself to stay detached from what he is doing.  
He forgets benevolence and compassion, he desecrates his weapon of justice with the blood of the innocents, and the more he is ordered to do it, the easier it gets, until he cannot feel anything anymore as he kills, until every death blurs into a haze of blood and destruction.  
At night, fire and screams fill his dreams.

He manages to find some of the people responsible for the bombings and brings them to justice, but even smashing their skulls with his hammer does not satisfy him as he had though it would.  
Hate blossoms in his chest, it grows, suffocating the virtues Pama has nurtured in him, and soon it is hard for him to remember that his is supposed to be an act, that his threats are aimed at changing the terms of the peace, that he doesn't really want the complete destruction of Xandar.

By the time he has obtained the Infinity Stone, he is guided solely by hate, he is almost mad with it. He only wants to destroy, first Xandar and then Thanos himself, and then the gods only know.  
That a ragtag band of criminals has managed to stop him should aggravate him, and it does, but he is grateful that they have.  
He is grateful for the humiliating little dance trick, for shooting him into a building, or several, for kicking him when he was down, and especially for letting him live with the shame of what he has become.

He has let his anger blind him and lead him, and now he is no better than the ones who have wronged his people.  
He is unworthy of being an Accuser, he is unworthy even of being _haaq__._ He is so lowly that his new masters have left him in the hands of the Xandarians, like an unwanted, cumbersome baggage.  
He is nothing.  
It is fitting.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

I am not trying to bash Nova Prime in this chapter, but to show her as an efficient and ruthless politician, who sees the big picture and has the interests of the Xandarian Empire as her top priority. Too bad for everyone who stands in her way.

Honest.

Enjoy!

* * *

Ronan wakes up from another nightmare to find none other than the Nova Prime, also known as Dame Irani Rael, standing at his bedside.  
She looks down at him with a carefully blank expression on her pale pink face. Her eyes glitter, hard like diamonds.

"You are one of the survivors from the airstrikes. - she says, not asks - That was why you were so angry at the negotiations."  
Ronan blinks in confusion, then nods. A shard of pain goes through his head, painting stars under his eyelids.  
"Which one? The Academy on Kilda? The military compound on Scatha?" she asks neutrally.  
He knows the victim counts of each, they range in the hundreds, if not thousands, yet she says the names as if they mean nothing.

"The Great Temple. On Hala." he rasps.  
Nova Prime nods. "Ah. You didn't make it in time to the ceremony, I suppose." she says calmly, as if she is speaking of the weather.  
"I was there. Inside the Temple." Ronan growls.  
This makes her change expression, at least. Her eyebrows arch in surprise.

"You are one of the fifteen, then." she says.  
There are only nine now, the others have succumbed to grief and guilt, and there will be eight when he dies.  
"I am not one of the seven thousand three hundred and seventy-six." he retorts. That was the final count, considering even those whose bodies, vaporized in the explosion, were never found.  
Nova Prime does not even blink. "When the strategy was planned, it seemed wise to sacrifice a few thousand to stop a war that could have killed millions." she states calmly.

Ronan tries to sit up, to launch himself off the bed and attack that sanctimonious woman. Agony shoots through his body, and the chains yank him back.  
"They were civilians! Children!" he explodes.  
Nova Prime just takes a step back and stares at him unblinkingly.  
"I want you to know that I always opposed that strategy. - she says - It was unnecessarily heavy on collateral damage, and we should have imagined that wiping out your leadership would have not stopped the Empire. Your warlike indoctrination is too strong. You just do not know when to stop." she comments loftily.  
Ronan is struck speechless by the callousness of that seemingly frail woman.

"We should have realized that starving you out would have been the best solution to obtain what we wanted. - she adds - It worked, didn't it?"  
"Or you could have met us in battle, you cowards!" Ronan exclaims.  
"We could have, but why should we? - she replies - We don't train our children to be killing machines since the age of six. We don't share a fetish for heroic death with you Kree. We do what is practical, not what is honourable. We like to win, not to fight uselessly." she explains.  
"You are craven. Without honour!" Ronan protests.  
"Maybe, but we won. - she retorts seraphically - And now, thanks to you, that treaty is set in stone. We should give you public thanks, really." she adds sweetly.  
Ronan struggles against the chains, furious and nearly mad with pain.  
"Actually, some conspiracy theorists say that you were working for us all along..." she continues, and he freezes as if struck by a deadly blow. That is a shame he didn't even know he was bearing.

"Your people should thank you too. - she goes on and he can't tell if she is oblivious of his pain, or quietly reveling in it - Your civilization was stagnant, dying. Trapped by rituals and ceremonies and unable to progress. The treaty will force them to change." she concludes.  
"The treaty will push people into destitution! - he objects - It will give free reign to greed and ambition and turn honour into an empty concept!"  
"You say this as if it is a bad thing. - she chides him - Ambition is good. It drives progress. Your politicians have realized it, finally, with some help from Kathair Fiyero. Better later than never." she comments smugly.  
"He was your man!" Ronan accuses.  
"Of course. - she replies offhandedly - War is a long game, we like to be prepared on all fronts. We have just shown him that here on Xandar, hard work is repaid with something a bit more substantial than a ceremonial weapon and a place in that abominable collective intelligence of yours after death."  
"Honour is its own reward." Ronan spits.

Words cannot express his disgust towards the scion of House Fiyero. If he were free, he'd make his mission of accusing him and bringing him to justice for high treason.  
"Maybe, but wealth is a bigger incentive. - Nova Prime concedes - Perhaps it will even give your oppressed lower classes the ambition to do something on their own, instead of looking for protection and guidance from you. They will be free."  
"Free to starve and to steal. Free to sell their honour to the highest bidder. - he retorts - What sort of freedom is that?"  
"It is the only kind. - Nova Prime replies - They will adapt, I am sure. Everything does if it wants to survive. You will too. Or maybe not. I have heard that you people are fond of ritual suicide." she adds, coming closer to the bed and staring at him hard.

"Now that the entire Galaxy knows that we have taken you prisoner, and that we are treating you humanely even after what you have done, we don't really need to keep you. - she says in a quiet hard voice - You are free to shuffle this mortal coil the way you prefer. You'll spare us the expense of cell and keep."  
Ronan is even further appalled by her words. Thankfully, he is not _haaq _to the Xandarians, or she might even order him to take his life, and he would be honour-bound to comply.  
"Then I will live, if only to spite you." he declares.  
Nova Prime shrugs. "I don't care either way. - she says and it rings true - Your moment of glory, so to speak, is over. You are history. Live or die, you are no longer a threat to us." she concludes.  
The worst is that she doesn't even hate him. He can see that.  
It is not personal for her, not a question of principles. It is just business.

"I didn't do this for glory! I did it for justice." he says nonetheless, wishing he didn't sound so desperate.  
"I had imagined. - Nova Prime comments - Those pilots you killed... we knew they had been responsible for the airstrikes. Well done. Now the truth is dead with them." she points out.  
"I have proof." Ronan insists.  
"No, you have not. - she declares - We have it, whatever has not been destroyed in the crash of the Dark Aster. We'll keep it safe for you." she pretends to reassure him, but her face and her voice are blank, empty.

"You can rest assured that it will never see the light again. - she promises quietly but with steel in her voice - We can't have something like that reach the public. It would be... inconvenient."  
"I will proclaim the truth! You will have to kill me to keep me silent!" Ronan shouts, feeling like a trapped animal, with increasingly less space to run.  
"And who will listen to you on Xandar, after what you have done? - she asks sweetly - You are a terrorist and a criminal. Your word is worth less than nothing here. As I said, you have no power to hurt us anymore."

As much as he would like to deny it, Ronan recognizes that it is the truth and that there is nothing he can do to change things.  
He has failed.  
Everything he has ever fought for, all his life, has been for nothing.  
Justice will not be done, and it is in good part his own fault.

Something breaks anew inside him, and from her expression, he can tell that Nova Prime has noticed.  
She does not gloat, though. Her expression is sad instead.  
She pities him, which makes it all worse.

"I am sorry for your loss. I really am. - she says and it sounds like the truth - But you should have let it go. You should have moved on. Your government has, finally. They didn't even ask for formal apologies from us. They are eager to leave that phase behind." she reveals.  
"It is wrong! It is wrong!" he cries.

Rows and rows of mostly empty tombs, shattered families, grown people who couldn't sleep at night without medication because what if they come back? What if they burn us from the sky again?  
It means nothing any longer. To no one.

"Right, wrong... Justice, honour... You Kree are surprisingly naive. - Nova Prime says - Reality is much more complicated than that. It's time that you learned it." she says before she leaves.

Blind with tears, Ronan only hears the door close behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

And here the angst is turned down a notch...

Enjoy!

* * *

After Nova Prime leaves, Ronan spends days and days in a sort of limbo, stuck in that hospital bed.  
He doesn't move or speak. Xandarian medical personnel pass by. They tend to his wounds, touch him, move him around to prevent bedsores.  
He doesn't even notice. He is barely aware of anything. His eyes are open and unblinking, but he doesn't see them. He barely hears their voices as they talk about him or between themselves, about their own business.

They think he has snapped, that his mind is gone. They are not very far from the truth.

He cannot find the will to live, but cannot find the strength to take his own life either. Physical death, the end of suffering, would be too great a boon for him.  
He feels already dead inside, though. His soul is shattered. Everything he was or believed to be is no more.  
He doesn't even know where to start to pick up the pieces and glue himself back together.  
He is nothing. He has no place in the new world the Xandarians have pushed on his people, he has no role.

Except that he has, he suddenly realizes one day.  
He is _haaq_ to those bounty-hunters. They have beaten him, not exactly fairly, but thoroughly. Them, not the Xandarians!  
Star-Lord, their leader, had even said the words. He claimed him, now he is theirs by law and custom.

In any other circumstance, the perspective would be appalling, but in his particular situation it represents hope, meaning, the possibility of atoning, even just partially, for his crimes.  
They have abandoned him, but maybe it is because they didn't understand the implications of their claim. Few non-Kree do.  
It doesn't really matter. He'll set them straight on it when he finds them.  
Once he explains everything to them, they will do the right thing, he is sure, and if not, maybe Drax will kill him. Or maybe that furry creature, Rocket. Or Gamora. It doesn't matter, he is not picky.

Having a goal helps a lot, he realizes. Finally, after he doesn't really know how long, he finds the strength to focus on his surroundings, to move.  
Thinking him gone to la-la land for good, the Xandarians have taken away his chains. He vaguely remembers them complaining about how hard it was to move him with them on. He blesses the weakness of these Xandarians, because it is his salvation.  
The surveillance is minimal for the same reason. There are no cameras in the room and plenty of stuff to improvise weapons with.  
Even if he is still weak and stiff from his prolonged immobilization, he reckons he could break out, with a bit of preparation. He just needs to find the right moment to run for it.

For a few days after that, he tries to regain as much mobility as he can by stretching and doing some inconspicuous exercise when the Xandarians are not looking. He is still confined to the bed, though. He has too many cannulas and sensors stuck to his person to be able to remove and replace them at will. He makes do.  
When the Xandarians are around, he acts like he is still totally out of his mind. He feigns unresponsiveness, stares in the distance and even drools. He withdraws again into his mind, but this time it is to plan and to meditate.

His time finally comes. The two Xandarian nurses, a yellow-skinned man and a pink woman, leave for lunch. Outside it is raining like there is no tomorrow. There will be hardly any people in the streets.  
The two have barely left his room when he switches off the monitors. The sensors go, and then the various cannulas. The one stuck in his stomach, through which they were feeding him, hurts like hell, but goes too. He patches himself up quickly with the supplies at hand. It is quite painful, but he will heal soon.

When he tries to stand, everything spins, even if he has sat down on the bed for quite a bit to let his blood pressure equalize. He nearly faints, but manages to pull through. He tries to walk. His legs wobble, but hold.  
Next, he looks for clothes. He knows there are scrubs and other odds and ends in one of the cupboards and there is no way he is going to escape in a hospital gown, with his backside hanging out for all to see. He is not that desperate, yet.  
The white clothes make his skin look even more conspicuously blue. There is no way he can blend in, but it does not matter. He doesn't plan on being seen.

He grabs a kit bag, empties it of most of its contents and stashes in it as many antibiotics and painkillers he can find in the room.  
The antibiotics are for him, he is running around with an open hole in his stomach and a few others on his arms after all.  
The painkillers are not.  
The Xandarians have left several highly inebriant and addictive substances lying around, the unauthorized sale and administration of which are illegal in most systems. They are also very sought after in the black market, especially pure and highly concentrated like the medical-grade formulations he has appropriated. They will come in handy if he needs some cash.

Forty-five minutes have passed since the nurses have left. They never return before an hour has passed, but he cannot tarry. Time is running out.  
The corridor is empty when he exits the room.  
He checks for cameras. There is one, but they have left a massive blind spot under it when they installed it. Ronan crouches and slinks away undetected. He follows the signs to the closest fire exit, avoiding the cameras and disabling one of them with a spray of liquid plaster.  
The fire door itself has been propped open with a weight, probably by someone who wanted to have a smoke and couldn't be bothered to walk to the designated smoking area. No one is smoking now. It is raining too hard.  
He slides out and goes down the stairs into the garden. It is totally empty.  
In a matter of minutes he is completely soaked. His stolen clothes cling uncomfortably to his skin.

He crosses the gardens as fast as he can manage, looking for an exit. He finds it near one of the now-empty team-sports pitches.  
Someone has pushed a bench close to the wall separating the gardens from an adjacent property. Standing on the backrest, he can easily reach the top of the wall and push himself over. He ends up in another garden. It is a residential compound.  
From the inside, the door leading to the street opens through a simple switch fitted with no additional security mechanisms. It must be a quiet neighborhood.

Ronan runs along the empty street, looking for a vehicle to aid his escape. He is quite close to the limit of his forces, exhausted and half-frozen by the cold rain.  
A speedercar passes by. He hides behind the shrubbery in someone's front garden.  
A sign on a nearby post catches his attention: it reads "West Point Airfield, 1/2 klik". It must be his lucky day.

He resumes his march and quickly finds his target. The front is guarded. He bets the back is not.  
He is right and mentally pats himself on the back for it.  
At the back of the airfield, the security is confided to a canal and a rusty metal net.  
He wades into the canal, he is already so wet that it makes no difference, and starts circling around the back. He has to walk for quite a bit before he finds an opening, but there it is. Some animals have dug a passage below the reticulate in their quest for water.  
He pushes the bag in first, then squeezes through. It is a tight fit, and he wouldn't have managed if he had not lost so much weight during his hospitalization. The mud helps him slide through.  
He scoops some up in his hands and purposefully smears it all over his clothes and exposed skin. Now those scrubs are not so starkly white anymore, and his skin is not so noticeably blue. It is a rather disgusting feeling, but being covered in mud will help him remain undetected as he crawls through the airfield.

The only space-worthy ship he can find is an old-ish personal cruiser, a sleek little thing that can carry two-three people at most. This one seems to have clocked quite a bit of parsecs, and bears a lot of stickers from the border checks of different systems. These ships usually have a cramped bathroom and a bunk room. It must belong to an old couple of travelers, he judges.  
He wishes it was the personal ship of some Xandarian officer or politician, instead. It would have made things easier, but beggars cannot be choosers. He overrides the lock and gains access to the cockpit, then hijacks the commands.  
The engines purr quietly. He is flying out of there before the control tower realizes what is happening.

It is only after he has reached the orbit that he allows himself to think about how many felonies he has committed in a single day: trespassing, drug possession, petty theft for the clothes, and now spaceship-jacking. It would make for an impressive rap sheet.  
Scratch that, just the amount of drugs he has in that bag would earn him a prolonged stay in prison in most lawful systems, and a close encounter with an Accuser's hammer back on Hala.  
He is not planning to go anywhere lawful, though. He sets his course for Knowhere and let the ship jump to curvature speed.

When he lands on Knowhere, the alien manning the parking lot doesn't even blink at the sight of a mud-covered Kree. He looks like he has seen worse things park in there.  
Before setting foot outside, Ronan takes his time and allows himself a shower to get rid of the mud and of the stink of hospital that has clung to his skin. He tends to his wounds once more and takes a shot of antibiotic for safety.

The shower-room itself is rather filthy. There are several razors, but no womanly toiletries. Entering the bunk room, he realizes that he has appropriated the ship not from an old couple, but from three or four young men with a poor sense of hygiene. An extra bunk has been fitted haphazardly and the walls are covered in posters and fliers of musical events. There are a wardrobe and a chest riveted to the floor. The young men have left some clothes in there, thankfully.

Ronan is taller and in general bigger than the average Xandarian, but the Xandarians interbreed freely with anything that moves and has legs, so the average is not really representative. He finds some stuff that fits, more or less, and is reasonably clean.  
The undershirt bears the logo of something music-related and is all stretched from careless washing, the leggings are a garish red, patterned with purple and black and are skin-tight, and the socks still stink vaguely. He finds a black hooded garment and a pair of boots more or less his size. He slips them on and suddenly feels a bit more like himself, a bit safer and less exposed. There is even a jacket, even if it has far more belts and buckles than strictly required by practical considerations.

Ronan stuffs a couple of vials of painkillers in the pocket of his jacket and pulls up his hood.  
He is ready to tackle the next step of his plan.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: mild violence, mentions of drug use, minor homophobic comments.

Enjoy!

* * *

After so many years working in law enforcement, finding a dealer is relatively easy. He has no frame of reference for how to interact with the man, however. In the past, he gave the small fish a good beating and clapped them in irons, or smote the bigger fish with his hammer. None of this is going to be helpful in his current situation.  
Ultimately he just slinks towards the man, a green-skinned humanoid dressed in shabby clothes.

"I have something that might interest you." he says quietly.  
"I doubt it, faggot. - the dealer retorts disdainfully - I am not into ass. Push over."  
Ronan does not know if he is more surprised or more offended by being mistaken for a male prostitute. Are his stolen clothes so improper?

"That is not what I am referring to. - he replies stiffly - I am talking about the devil's juice. Liquid dream." he adds, hoping that the slang for that particular substance is the same on Knowhere as in Kree space.  
The man's eyebrows shoot up. "I am listening." he says quietly.

Ronan takes the two vials out of his pocket and deposits them in the dealer's hand. The man makes a show of examining them, but it is clear that they came straight from the factory.  
"This is good stuff. - the dealer approves - I can give you a good price for it."  
Ronan nods. The man forks out a wad of cash and hands it over to him.

When Ronan takes it, the dealer grabs his wrist. "Is there more of it where these came from?" he asks.  
"Perhaps. I'll have to see what I can do." Ronan answers, avoiding definite committment in either direction. He doesn't know how long he will have to search for his quarry and how much it will cost him.  
"If there is, come to me, alright bro? - the dealer offers - I'll give you an honest price for it. I am an honest man." he declares.  
Ronan has the impression that the man doesn't even know what "honest" means.

The first thing he procures with the cash from his crime is a portable comm apparatus.  
He obtains a reasonably powerful one probably stolen in Nova space, from a fence. It works, even if there is still a lot of data from the previous owner on it: pictures of a young man, his wife and their children, text messages and call logs. It is not the first time he handles stolen goods, but it is the first time he uses some for his benefit. The idea unsettles him.

He stops at a junk shop for some other purchases, then moves to a shabby eatery. He is starving.  
Though the furniture is rickety and mismatched, the hygienic conditions are surprisingly acceptable. He orders whatever passes for soup and bread and sits at a table, assembling his purchases.

Last time he was on Knowhere, Drax had led him there. The tattooed brute had told him where to find them, but he knew better than believing a fugitive at face value.  
He had checked the man's position with a Galactic Localization Decoder, an instrument that used metadata encoded in a transmission to derive the origin of a call based on satellites and network relays. It was pretty accurate, and he had been using them for his job ever since one of his course-mates invented it for an assignment at the Academy. The boy had even told him how to make them. It was relatively easy, if one knew what to do.

The soup and bread arrive. Ronan interrupts his work and starts to eat very cautiously and slowly. He doesn't really know how much time he has spent in hospital, but it must be at least a month since the last time he has had any solid food. His stomach must have shrunk with disuse in the meantime. He has to take it easy if he doesn't want to feel ill straight away.  
It takes him only a few spoonfuls of soup and a morsel of bread to feel already full. He leaves the food alone and continues to work, taking occasional bites from the bread in between.

The GLD is ready in less than an hour. Ronan slots the power pack in the device and it pings to life with a quiet beep. Everything seems to be working. He connects the GLD to the comm with a cable and calls the phone company hotline to calibrate it.  
As he waits for an operator, the GLD quietly crunches its numbers, and returns him a location corresponding to one of the least-developed planets in the Nova system. The place is famous for hosting lots of de-localized services. Pays are much lower and workers are less protected than on the central planets of the Nova Empire. Businesspeople love the combination and the profits it affords them.

If that is how the Nova treat their own people for money, he dreads to think of what will happen to his people when businesspeople start flocking in in search of easy profit. The Kree Empire hardly has any labour law. There is a minimal framework, but everything else is regulated privately between employers and employees, on the implicit understanding that all transactions will be conducted honourably and on the basis of mutual respect. The Nova will have a field day...

Ronan pushes those thoughts away. There is no point for him to think about that now. What he needs to now is to find the Guardians.  
They are bounty hunters, and live off commissions. Their contact number is therefore prominently displayed on their business page on the ComNet.  
He takes a deep breath and dials it up. His heart beats crazily in anxiety and he even feels vaguely nauseous. The comm rings and rings on the other side.  
Ronan is starting to think that there is no one home, when finally someone picks it up.

"Guardians of the Galaxy bounty and security services!" someone says on the other side.  
Ronan recognizes the voice. It is Star-Lord and he seems... he seems slightly inebriated from the way he slurs. Ronan is slightly disappointed, but cannot really say that he is surprised. Star-Lord looks like the type of man who indulges in... well in everything.  
"Who is speaking?" the Terran asks.  
Ronan hesitates. The GLD is taking its time to spit a location. He needs to keep the call going for a while longer, but he cannot give himself away yet, or his quarry will escape.

"Are you Star-Lord?" he asks, feigning excitement and a strong Nova accent.  
"Yes." the Terran answers.  
"_The_ Star-Lord?!" Ronan continues, cursing against the blasted machine. Why is it going so slow?  
"Yeah. That's me! - the Terran confirms - I didn't know I was _that_ famous..." he adds, clearly pleased by the attention.  
"Who's that, Peter?" Ronan can hear Gamora's voice in the distance.  
"Is that a customer?" she asks.  
"Yes, yes. - Star-Lord reassures her in a whisper - Who are you then?" he asks more loudly, into the comm.

Ronan nearly panics.  
"I... I am in dire need of your assistance." he improvises. It is not a valid identification, but it is true and it seems to stave off further questions.  
"Only you can help me." he adds, and this is also true. As his instructors at the Academy have told him, there is hardly ever any need for lying. The truth is often very effective.  
"Ok, buddy, I need you to calm down and tell me what is the problem, alright?" Star-Lord says, sounding instantly sober and willing to help. He believes himself a hero. Maybe he is.  
"Are you in immediate danger?" the Terran asks.  
"Ask them if they can pay!" a voice exclaims in the distance. Rocket. The furry creature is greedy. Good to know.  
"Probably yes." Ronan replies.  
In all likelihood, the Xandarians will be already looking for him around the Galaxy. It is only a matter of time before one of their agents spots him or his stolen ship.

The GLD finally pings. Pama must be looking down on him with benevolence, despite what he has done, because it turns out that they are on Knowhere too, literally two blocks away from his current position.  
"Listen, - he says - I cannot talk to you now. I'll call back." he says, then drops the comm on the table so that they will hear a lot of noise and cuts the call.  
He is nearly trembling in dread and excitement. He is close to finding salvation, but there is still room for failure. He cannot think about it now, though. He has to keep calm and think on his feet if he wants to be able to convince the Guardians to keep him.

He quickly pays the bill and walks out of the eatery.  
In the alley at the back, he pulls the power pack out of the GLD and smashes it against the wall, dumping its sorry remains into two or three different bins.  
He might have become _haaq_ to a group of non-Kree, but he is not going to give away a military secret of his people like that.  
This is going to be his last act of defiance, though. From then onwards he is honor-bound to obey his captors completely and in all things.  
Deed done, he walks as fast as he can to their position.

He catches up with them as they are getting out of a tavern of some sorts and to their ship. He hides behind another ship and allows himself a moment to watch them.  
Rocket, Drax, Gamora and Star-Lord. They walk close to each other, not for protection, but because they are comfortable like that. Rocket carries a... a vase? Yes, it is a vase, and it seems to contain a sapling version of the plant person who was fighting alongside them on the Dark Aster.  
The furry creature is talking to the sapling and it replies in a childish voice.  
"I am Groot!" it chirps.  
The Guardians laugh at that remark, as if it is a splendid joke. They seem relaxed and happy in each other's presence. They care for each other.  
Secretly he envies them.

Ha cannot just stand there and look at them forever though. He takes several deep breaths to steady himself and circles the ship he was hiding behind, appearing in front of them and blocking their path.  
"Hey, buddy! What's the matter?" Star-Lord asks, confused and slightly worried.  
"Guardians of the Galaxy... I have been looking for you." Ronan says, standing as straight and proud as he can manage. He is enjoying the fact that he has managed to unsettle them.  
"Oh, really? - Star-Lord retorts - And who the hell are you, apart from someone with a weird fashion sense?" he provokes.  
Ronan decides not to take offense. His clothes are actually odd and mismatched.  
"You know me already." he declares, lowering his hood so that his face is revealed.

Four (or five if you count the sapling) pairs of eyes look at him with vague confusion. They don't seem to recognize him without the warpaint. he knows it was very distinctive, and he knows also that people tended to see only that and his hammer when they looked at him.  
Star-Lord is the first to recognize him, and Ronan can't help the shiver of satisfaction that courses through him when the Terran's eyes go very wide and his hands drop towards his blaster pistols.  
"You?! - Rocket exclaims, drawing that huge gun of his - What?! How?!" he sputters.  
Ronan feels the corners of his mouth curl into a smirk. It thrills him that they still consider him a dangerous foe, even if he is so diminished.  
He draws breath to talk and explain, but a war cry explodes from Drax's' chest and suddenly the brute is charging towards him like an enraged bull.

Ronan sees the first blow coming with plenty of time to evade or respond. His instinct screams for him to step out, grab Drax's wrist and twist his arm out of its socket, but he can't hurt him. He cannot hurt any of them.  
A _haaq_ is not allowed to raise a hand on his masters.

By the time he manages to repress his instinctual reaction, it is too late for him to evade. He takes the blow straight to his face.  
The punch is hard enough and he is still weak enough that he ends up sprawling.  
Drax doesn't leave him the time to try and get up, but flies towards him and starts kicking him. The first kick gets him straight in the stomach, tearing a cry of pain from his throat. The blows don't stop after that.

Ronan curls up, trying to protect himself. He should have started talking straight away, without pausing to gloat like an idiot.  
"This is going to be much harder than I anticipated." he thinks.


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: mild violence, blood, angst.

I know the OP of the kinkmeme suggested Gamora as the one who realizes what is going on, but it made more sense for it to be Drax, instead.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Who the hell was that?" Rocket asks, when the comm is interrupted.  
Peter shrugs his shoulders. "I have absolutely no idea." he replies.  
"Not a real customer, anyway." the sentient raccoon comments dejectedly.  
"That voice. - Drax chimes in - It reminds me of someone, but I am not sure of whom."  
Peter shrugs again. He feels like he is on the verge of remembering the voice of the prank-caller, if that was actually a prank-call, but the name escapes him. It must be the booze.

"Alright, guys and girl. - he announces, massaging his tired eyes with the heels of his hands - Time to get some z's. I think we've had enough for tonight." he proposes.  
Drax and Rocket obviously protest, they always do. Unsurprisingly, Little Groot helps.  
"I am Groot!" he protests, and Peter knows he means something like "But we were having so much fun!". Plants shouldn't be able to make puppy eyes, but Groot somehow manages to look even cuter when he pleads.

"Stop it, you're behaving like children. - Gamora intervenes - We have places to be tomorrow, and I'm not flying with a band of people nursing their hangovers." she declares. Thankfully she has no problems with putting her foot down when the situation requires it.  
Rocket and Drax know it is not worth trying to resist. "I am Groot..." the sapling protests, crossing his branches and frowning.  
"No, it's not very fun at all..." Rocket agrees.

They are getting to the ship when the raccoon decides to get his revenge.  
"You know what, Groot?- he says, loud enough for all the group to hear even if he is carrying Groot's vase in his arms - I think that weirdo called because he is a Star-Lord fanboy."  
"I am Groot?" the sapling asks.  
"It means that he has the hots for our brave leader. That he would like to make fruits with him!" Rocket explains.  
"Making fruits" being the delicate and still obvious plant-person equivalent of having sex. Peter feels his cheeks colouring and turns to reply, but Groot beats him to it.  
"I am Groot!" the sapling says innocently. "Of course he wants. Peter is beautiful." he means. Peter can't help but laugh.  
Rocket looks at him in dismay.  
"I am Groot." he adds, smiling wide and hugging Rocket as close as possible. "You all are, especially you."  
"I _am _Groot!" he adds enthusiastically. "When I am in my springtime, I will make fruits with you all!"  
"I am Groot." he concludes shyly. "So you will stay with me always."  
"Of course we will, little one." Gamora chimes in, stepping back to brush the sapling with her fingers.  
"I am Groot!" the sapling exclaims, bouncing with joy. The group cannot help but laugh with him, captured by his happiness.

When they stop laughing and turn to resume walking, a tall, imposing figure is blocking their way to the ship.  
It is a man, broad-shouldered and lean. The stranger stands confidently, hands curled into loose fists at his sides. He is dressed like a punk, with boots, extremely tight and colorful trousers, a hoodie and a leather jacket. No weapons are visible, but that doesn't mean he is not carrying any. The hood hides his face almost completely. Peter can't guess the man's identity, not even his species.  
The only thing he can tell about the man is that he has an extremely nice ass.

"Hey, buddy! What's the matter?" Peter asks, slightly wary.  
It would not be the first time he gets ambushed in a parking lot, but he tends to try and avoid fighting against the kind of individual who is willing to go toe to toe with the four of them, if he can.  
"Guardians of the Galaxy... I have been looking for you." the man says.  
His voice is deep, smooth and cultured. A nice voice for a probable psycho, Peter thinks, and realizes he has already had a similar thought before, minus the probable.

"Oh, really? - he asks - And who the hell are you, apart from someone with a weird fashion sense?" he jabs.  
He sees the man draw himself up in outrage for a moment, then relax back with an audible sigh.  
"You know me already." the man says, then, with slow and deliberate moves, lowers his hood, revealing a fine-featured, blue face and a bald blue head. Intense blue eyes focus on him expectantly.  
For a moment, Peter draws a blank, then...

"Oh crap..." he thinks. He knows where he has heard that voice, where he has seen that face.  
It is impossible, or at least highly improbable, because last he saw him three months before, the Xandarians were going to stick him in the deepest prison on the planet, but everything tells Peter that the man standing in front of him is none other than Ronan the Accuser.  
His face is gaunter, a bit worn, and the warpaint is missing. It makes him look more approachable, more vulnerable, but Peter has no doubts that he is still as lethal as ever, even without his armour and hammer.

His hands unconsciously drop towards the blasters holstered at his waist. Ronan notices and smirks smugly, pleased by the effect he still has on him. Damned blue psycho!  
Peter notices that Rocket has lowered Little Groot to the floor and picked up his gun. A few paces away, Gamora and Drax have also taken up arms and seem ready to fight.  
Peter has doubts about calling the attack, though. He is not sure that they can do much against Ronan, they haven't managed to do much at all against him in their previous encounters, except being thrown around all over the place like rag dolls.  
Their last fight on Xandar doesn't count. Ronan should have been killed by the blast of the Infinity Stone by then.  
The fact that he had not died then was a testament to how fucking un-killable that guy was.

Luckily for them, Ronan doesn't seem in a killing mood at the moment, but it is hard to tell. It is not like Peter has any frame of reference on the man's moods or habits.  
Maybe he just wants to go in a rant before wiping the floor with them. Ronan seems about to start talking, when Drax launches himself at him.  
It worked last time, but now that the Kree doesn't have one foot already in the grave, things can turn sour quite quickly.

Ronan tenses up to fight, but then hesitates, seemingly frozen in place, an expression of inner conflict on his face.  
Drax's punch connects with his jaw at full power, tipping his head backwards. Ronan loses his footing and crashes to the ground.  
Drax loses no time and started kicking him hard. The first kick connects with the Kree's midriff hard enough to make him cry out in agony, and then Ronan just curls up on the ground in a protective posture, taking the beating without even trying to defend himself or retaliate. It is odd, very odd.  
Even weak and almost dead after being blasted with the Infinity Stone, the blue bastard had still tried to give it as good as he got it, and now he isn't even making an effort against a guy he knows he can take.  
And then, if he is after them to get even for what happened on Xandar, why is he letting Drax wipe the floor with him?  
Peter wishes the explanation was that Ronan has become the Kree equivalent of Joe Normal, but a gut instinct tells him that it is going to be much more complicated than that.

"Drax! Stop!" he calls out, but the man barely hears him.  
"Why are you always stopping me when I am beating this man?" Drax asks, giving the unresisting Kree another kick.  
"He is not even defending himself!" Peter points out.  
"I find this arrangement perfectly satisfying." Drax replies, kicking out again.  
Peter growls in frustration. He means to say something more, but Gamora beats him to it. She tackles Drax to the ground and sits on his chest to prevent him from standing again.  
"Why did you do that?!" Drax exclaims. He sounds heartbroken.

Ronan is still on the ground. Peter hears him gasp in pain as he tries to push himself up.  
He pulls out his guns and points them at the Kree's head. His aim is steady and he reckons that at such a short distance even if he can't kill him straight away, he will be able to do a lot of damage.  
Ronan rises to his knees and raises his hands over his head in surrender. A black bruise is forming on his face.  
"I am not here to harm you. - he says quietly - I am here to give myself up." he adds.  
This time it is Peter's turn to be completely baffled by the other's behavior.  
"What?! - he blurts out - What are you doing?!" he asks, and then feels like an idiot because that's exactly what the blue bastard said to him when he was doing his dance-off distraction.

The Kree smirks again. He clearly has caught on the joke.  
"I can explain." he says calmly.  
"Then do it, and do it quickly. - Peter orders - And if I don't like your explanation I will shoot you in the face. Maybe it won't kill you, but I'm sure it will hurt." he threatens.  
Ronan nods. "It is fair." he acquiesces.  
"Get started. - Peter orders - How did you escape from the Nova? How did you find us?"  
"With relative ease." the Kree replies smugly. He shrugs, winces in pain, lowers a hand to his midriff and starts talking again.  
"I convinced the Xandarians that I was no longer able to pose a threat, so they relaxed the security. - he explains calmly - I ran away from the hospital, stole a spaceship and came here to Knowhere. I found you like the last time, by tracking your phone." he adds and it feels like he is twisting the knife a bit.

"The phone call! It was you!" Rocket chimes in.  
"Yes. It was me." Ronan confirms.  
The bastard had the drop on them from the start!  
"So you knew where we were. You could have killed us easily." Peter commented.  
"Not easily, no. - the Kree replied perfectly serious and placid - I am still not completely restored. It would have taken quite a bit of effort to take you all down, especially Gamora."  
"Thanks. I'll take it as a compliment." the green-skinned assassin says.  
Ronan nodded. "It is." he confirms.

"Then why didn't you?!" Peter explodes, totally weirded out by the direction the conversation is taking.  
"Because I am not seeking revenge from you." Ronan replies as if it is obvious to everyone but a confused Star-Lord.  
"I am seeking atonement." Ronan says, astonishingly.  
"What?!" this time the exclamation of surprise is shared between him, Drax and Rocket.

Ronan sighs and lowers his head.  
"What I did on Xandar and before, in the service of Thanos... It was wrong. - he says, looking to the ground in obvious shame - It was unjust and unforgivable." he adds and Peter has a hard time trying to reconcile those words, which sound sincere and heartfelt, with the self-righteous Accuser he thought he knew.

"I don't know how I ended up doing such things, they were never part of the plan. - he continues, his voice lost and almost breaking - I only wanted to force the Xandarians to admit their war crimes against us and renegotiate the treaty. I never intended to destroy Xandar itself."  
"Well, you did a good impression of someone who would have loved nothing better. You convinced everyone." Peter provokes.  
Ronan raises his head again and meets Peter's eyes with his own.  
"I know. - he admits - I don't know how I got there, but when you stopped me, I really wanted to do it. I..." he stops, lowers his gaze and shakes his head.  
"I am not trying to exculpate myself. - he continues in a moment - I take full responsibility of my actions. I have behaved unjustly and mercilessly. I have slaughtered innocents. I have become like the people I wanted to bring to justice. I have dishonoured myself and my people." he declares.  
Peter thinks that he has summed it up pretty nicely. It must have been a pretty painful realization for the Kree, though. Even though he doesn't like the man at all, he cannot help admiring him at least a bit for being brave enough to admit it.

"And when did you figure that out?" Peter asks sarcastically, trying to push those thoughts away.  
"After you defeated me with the Infinity Stone. - Ronan replies, oblivious to the sarcasm - It was as if a cloud had lifted from my mind. Even as I tried to fight against you afterwards, I was starting see the reality of what I had done. I am glad that you stopped me. I wish someone had been able to stop me sooner." he adds wistfully.

"I've never been thanked by anyone for kicking their arses. That's properly weird, you know? Did your "villains anonymous" counselor suggest you to do that? " Peter comments, shaking his head. He gets no response.  
"I'm starting to realize that you are the king of the weirdos, so I suppose it is par for the course. - he continues - Thanks and confession accepted. Now, is that it? Is that why you came here?"  
Ronan shakes his head.  
"It is not. - he declares, confirming Peter's worry that things are going to become even crazier - I am here to give myself up. I told you." he points out, irritated.  
Peter is now almost completely baffled. Why can't the Kree make sense? He is starting to believe that he preferred him in full-blown killing mode.

"So, correct me if I am wrong. - he says cautiously - You have run away from the Xandarians just to let yourself be taken into our custody?"  
The Kree raises his gaze again. "Yes." he says.  
"That is nuts! - Rocket exclaims - This guy is nuts, Peter. Why don't we shoot him in the head and get done with it? I'm sure the Xandarians won't mind." he proposes.  
Attractive, but no, Peter thinks. He can talk tough, but he wouldn't be able to kill someone in cold blood, especially not someone who has surrendered. Rocket doesn't have those qualms, though. Better be clear.

"Not yet, Rocket. - he orders, then turns back towards Ronan - You! Why did you do something so idiotic?" he almost shouts.  
"Because you have taken me as your _haaq_, not the Xandarians. This is where I need to be." the Kree replies with quiet determination.  
He is speaking in the Commercial Language, but there is a word Peter doesn't recognize. It must be Kree, a language which he doesn't know. His implants offer a translation, but Peter doubts it is the correct one. They suggest "spoils of war" or "war prize" as translations, neither of which makes sense in context.

"We didn't do any such thing!" Peter protests.  
"You did, when you brought me low. - the Kree insists - You said the words yourself, Star-Lord. You said that I was your prisoner and your responsibility!" he accuses. His eyes bore into Peter's own, feverish and full of raw, barely contained emotion.

Really? Seriously? Did the crazy blue dude organize a prison break for a matter of prerogatives?  
"I didn't mean it that way! - Peter protests - There was no need to make this whole mess. We didn't mind you staying with the Xandarians. No harm done, I mean..." he says, but he immediately realizes it is the wrong thing to say.  
"I do. - the Kree declares - I... I cannot live with what I have done. I am dishonoured, meaningless. I am searching for a way to atone for my crimes, and being confined in a Xandarian prison is not... It is not going to work. They don't care if I atone or not, they just care that they were seen being humane to me. They have no use for me. Staying with them would make my survival meaningless." he says, and Peter thinks he can see tears forming in his eyes.

"And how being our prisoner would help you atone?" Gamora asks.  
Ronan turns to reply, but surprisingly it is Drax that explains it for him.  
"By forcing him to humiliate himself with serving his enemies. - the Destroyer says - My people has a similar custom. Battle captives and criminals become the property of their captors." he explains, disentangling himself from Gamora.  
Peter nods to himself. Things are now starting to make sense.

"So you are asking us to take you as a slave, Accuser?" Drax asks advancing on the kneeling Kree.  
"No, I am not asking. I am begging you. - he replies, and prostrates himself to the ground at Drax's feet - Please! Allow me to serve you! Allow me to atone!" he pleads. Peter can hear the desperation in his words. It makes him feel almost sorry for the bastard.

Drax grabs the front of Ronan's jacket and pulls him to his feet with by brute force with one hand. The other is occupied by one of his knives, which is pointed at Ronan's throat. The Kree doesn't struggle, doesn't shy away.  
"Do you think that this will make me forgive you?" Drax growls. The knife nicks the Kree's skin. Black-blue blood wells out of the small wound. Ronan doesn't even seem to notice.  
"No... - he says quietly - I don't ask for your forgiveness, Drax the Destroyer. I cannot even forgive myself for what I have done." His voice breaks.  
"I can still hear their screams... - he says, and now he sounds like he is properly crying - They were not pitiful. They were agonizing to hear. They haunt me. I wish someone had killed me before I did something like that... I wish I had died in that fire..." he confesses, heartbroken.  
Drax lets him go and steps back. Ronan folds to the ground again, as if his legs cannot support him, clasping his arms around his chest as if he is trying to hold himself together. His gaze is lost in the distance, and his cheeks are streaked by tears. He doesn't seem very formidable at all, just exhausted, and very much broken.

Peter looks at Drax. He looks like he is going to cry too, Groot is bawling in sympathy, and, as for Gamora, she looks like she has been at it for a while. Her shoulders are shaken by quiet little sobs, and she is pressing a hand against her lips to prevent them from trembling.  
What is going on in there?  
"Please... - Ronan pleads again - Accept my servitude... Or end my suffering, at least. I cannot go back to Xandar. I can't bear it..."  
Kill or keep, Peter thinks. Why is life so difficult?

"Alright, blue sucker! - Rocket intervenes, pointing his huge gun at Ronan - Any last words?" he asks.  
"Rocket, NO!" Peter, Drax and Gamora shout in a little chorus.  
"What the hell, people?! - Rocket asks, frowning - Are you really thinking about keeping him?! You are as nuts as him! He's going to kill us all in our sleep!" he protests.  
"No, he is not." Peter retorts. He thinks that he is starting to understand the twisted logic of it all.

"You cannot harm us, can you? Not even to defend yourself. That's why you let Drax kick you around like a football" he says to the Kree, holstering his blasters.  
"Yes." Ronan replies, refusing to meet his eyes.  
"And you have to obey any orders we give you." Peter continues.  
Ronan acquiesces again.  
"Anything you ask me, I will do." he confirms.  
"Thought so. - Peter comments - Come on, bluebell. Stand up. We are going." he orders.  
Ronan raises a hopeful gaze towards him. "Does that mean that you accept my pledge?" he asks, as if he didn't really believe that they would.  
"That doesn't depend just on us. - Peter replies, feeling slightly bad when the hope disappears from those impossibly blue eyes - Listen, I can't make any promises. Just come with us, alright?" he adds, rubbing his eyes. The adrenaline is starting to fade and he feels horrendously tired.

The Kree acquiesces and tries to obey, but as soon as he manages to pull himself to his feet, he crumples back to the floor once more with a sharp cry and a grimace, obviously in pain. He presses a hand over his midriff, and when he takes it away his palm is coated in thick black-blue liquid.  
Blood.  
Ronan looks at it in surprise and curses softly under his breath.

"I didn't do it!" Drax exclaims.  
Peter ignores him. He has just noticed that the front of Ronan's hoodie is wet with blood.  
"Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!" Peter thinks.  
He kneels next to the Kree and forcibly lifts his top. There is a large plaster stuck to his stomach, covering an old wound which probably had not finished healing yet. It is drenched with blood and a massive black bruise has spread around it. Peter has patched up enough people in his life to know that it looks an awful lot like an internal hemorrhage.

Meanwhile, Ronan must have realized how bad he is actually feeling and is almost collapsing to the ground.  
His skin is pale and sweaty, and he looks a lot worried for someone who didn't care about dying. He must have been running on adrenaline and stubbornness until then.

"Rocket! - Peter exclaims, switching to battle mode again - Get that doctor friend of yours here! Real quick! Like, yesterday!" he orders.  
"I'm on it!" Rocket exclaims, none too pleased by the state of things.  
"We have to move." he tells Ronan, grabbing the the ex-genocidal maniac by an arm. The Kree nods and tries to push himself to his feet.  
Peter helps him to stand on wobbly legs and starts to drag him to the Milano. Gamora grabs his other hand, and together they manage to get him into the ship and lay him down on the table of the common area.

By then, Ronan has almost passed out. His eyes close on their own and he is shivering helplessly.  
"Hang in there, bluebell!" Peter tries to reassure him, because damn it, the crazy Kree has put himself under their protection, and somehow it doesn't seem right for him to die like that.  
"Help is on the way. You'll be fine." Peter adds, instinctively squeezing his hand.  
Ronan looks his way long and hard, as if trying to figure out how much of his worry for him is genuine, how much he can trust Peter.

The world is really fucked up, Peter thinks, and he knows he is making it worse by giving the blue bastard hope, but he has actually said the words, even if he had never meant them that way, and at least for the moment, he intends to live by them. There will be time to discuss the situation later, for now his top priority is keeping Ronan alive.


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: bucket-loads of angst, some gore (mostly implied), and some language.

Implied Star-Lord/Gamora established relationship.  
And yes, the Kree have mostly Irish names, I couldn't help it. One of my football mates is a handsome Irish dude called Ronan and somehow the association stuck.

Enjoy!

* * *

Rocket's friend ends up performing emergency surgery on the Kree in what passes for their kitchen. There is not a lot of space in there in the best of circumstances, now, with the tall alien draped on the table it just seems awfully cramped.  
Rocket and Drax disappear as if by magic as soon as the doctor starts. Peter and Gamora end up having to assist him. They see much more that they had signed up for. Kree have blue innards too. Who would have thought?

Drax re-emerges once they are finished and transports a sedated Ronan to the newly installed detention facility. They roll out the sleeping mat and lay the prisoner down on it, covering him with a blanket.  
The doctor has said that Ronan is lucky to be even alive and has lost loads of blood. He will probably be out of commission for days, but Rocket insists and does not relent, so they end up chaining the Kree to the walls of the cell "for safety". Peter is not very happy about it, it seems like an abuse to him, but at least the chains are long enough for Ronan to move in his sleep if he needs to.

The group moves back to the common area. Peter scrubs the smears of black-blue blood away from the table and prepares coffee for everyone. They have much to discuss, but no one seems to be comfortable with starting, so they sit together in silence for a while, nursing their coffees.

"What a night..." Peter says, trying to jump-start the conversation.  
Drax and Rocket nod and grumble noncommittally, but don't elaborate. Gamora doesn't even tick. She is looking down at her mug of coffee as if it holds all the answers.  
Groot is not helping either. He has slipped fully into the dark phase of his daily cycle and is out cold, curled in his vase. He is even snoring slightly. Peter nudges him gently with a finger and the sapling repositions himself without even waking up. The snoring ceases.

"So, guys... - Peter plods on, taking another sip of his coffee - Any thoughts on what we should be doing with Crazy Smurf?"  
"We could kill him and space him in an asteroid field, not necessarily in this order." Rocket proposes, slurping his coffee. Even Drax gives him a horrified stare.  
"But you guys seem to have gone soft on him... so I am alright with just dumping him on Nova Prime's turf and running away as fast as possible." the sentient raccoon continues, waving a hand in the air despondently.  
"That is cruel, my furry friend." Drax objects.  
"Hey, I said I don't insist on killing him!" Rocket protests.  
Drax shakes his head. "The cruelty lies not in his death, but in preventing him from regaining his honour. - he explains - For a warrior it is a fate worse than death."

"There can't be anything worse than death! - Rocket exclaims - Because when you are dead, that's it! Game over! There is nothing you can do anymore." he says.  
"It is true, but..." Drax starts to say.  
"No buts! - Rocket interrupts him, slamming a hand on the table - I can't believe it! I mean, I know you guys had your moment of male bonding back in the parking lot, but you can't have fallen for the repentance trick!" he says, fur bristling on the back of his neck.  
Drax doesn't reply, he looks at his hands and remains silent.  
"Come on, dude! - Rocket insists - This is the oldest trick in the book! It should be disallowed, from how old it is! You can't fall for it!" he rants.  
"That guy is a nearly-unstoppable killer. He's a genocidal maniac! He nearly killed us all! - Rocket continues, seeing that everyone else is too busy brooding to respond - He hasn't repented! He is just trying to buy himself some time!" he declares.  
"Time for what, Rocket? - Peter asks wearily- All his men are dead. His people has left him to rot."  
"I don't know what for, but, guys! Let's be real! - Rocket objects - Do you really believe that he had no intentions of blowing Xandar? Do you really think that he has been made to do it?" he asks.

"I do." Gamora says quietly.  
"What?!" Rocket exclaims, turning sharply towards her.  
Gamora sighs and raises her eyes from the mug.  
"I said I do believe it." she confirms.  
Rocket looks at her like she has sprouted a second head.  
"You guys seem to always forget that I was a daughter of Thanos until not long ago."she continues.  
"Yeah, so what?" Rocket asks.  
"So I have been with the Mad Titan for years on end. I traveled with Ronan for over a year on Thanos' bidding. I know how Thanos works... I know how things came to pass..." she explains. Her eyes stray back to the mug.  
"For Thanos people are nothing but toys. He plays with each one of them. - she continues - He takes their loves and fears and uses them to push them to the brink of insanity, he twists them, he torments them, he uses them to do his bidding, and when they are broken, he discards them." she explains, and with every word she seems to become angrier and sadder.

"A couple of years ago, there was this guy, from a place called Asgard... - she narrates - He had found out that he had been kidnapped as a baby and used as political leverage by his adoptive father for all his life. He flipped the lid, wanted vengeance against his daddy. By the time Thanos had finished with him, the guy went to Terra with an army of Chitauri, set on wreaking havoc and capturing the Tesseract." she explains.  
"What?! - Peter exclaims - That's my home planet!"  
"They are safe.- Gamora reassures - Thanos had intelligence that a bunch of Terrans and an Asgardian managed to stop him and take the Stone to safety."  
Peter sighs in relief. He doesn't have very good memories of his time on Terra, apart from his mum, but it is still his home, and he strongly objects to aliens destroying it.  
"And what about the guy?" Rocket asks.  
Gamora shrugs. " In Asgard's deepest prison, I suppose." she replies.

Rocket shakes his head. "So daddy dearest's MO is to rile up angry young men and send them after stuff he wants?" he asks.  
"Pretty much. He needs the Stones to free himself from the pocket dimension where he is trapped. - she replies - The people he uses to retrieve them are just toys to him. And in Ronan and his men, he found the perfect toys. He just couldn't help himself." she adds.  
"Why? What made them so suitable?" Drax asks.  
"They were all seasoned warriors, but still innocent, in a way. So full of honour and thirsty for justice..." Gamora says wistfully, almost with longing.  
She shakes her her head. "So desperate and so angry... - she adds - They offered themselves to him, like lambs at the slaughter, in exchange for his help in their quest, and he took them. He used them, and pushed them until they became twisted shadows of what they were."  
Peter watches her talk, and realizes that her eyes are shining with tears.

"He commanded them to perform services for him, to raid this place or this other, to retrieve things for him. They were duty-bound to obey, and at first he only asked for honourable services. - she explains - But then he started raising the bar, asking them to destroy settlements and kill innocents. They had pledged themselves to him and couldn't deny him. There was no honour in what they were asked to do, but they would be dishonoured if they refused. I could see them die inside, little by little..." she continues, tears streaming down her face  
"It is not your fault, Gamora." Peter says, laying a hand on her shoulder.  
"Yes, it is, at least partly! - she sobs, shying away from the contact and hugging herself for protection - Because I was there! I watched him turn them into hollow-hearted killers! I watched him kill them inside and I did nothing! I was there all the time! I could have stopped them! I could have helped them resist! And yet I did nothing, because I didn't care enough, because I was so used to death and destruction that it didn't mean anything to me anymore!" she wails.  
There is a moment of silence.

"Were you with them when..." Drax asks timidly.  
Gamora nods, sobbing to herself.  
"I was there. - she confirms - We lost five officers that night, on the Dark Aster. They all committed suicide. They couldn't bear that torment any longer. I still remember their names, their faces... Aedhan, Drustan, Eoghan, Yael and Oisin. They were the youngest of the lot, barely more than cadets. Drustan was Korath's little brother. He had a massive crush on Nebula, but she never even ticked on it... They were just kids..." she narrates among sobs.  
Peter wishes he could help her, that he could hold her together with his arms, but this is something that has been festering in her soul for a long time, and now it needs out. She will feel better afterwards.

"And the rest of them, those who survived, they looked dead inside. Dark Aster was a ship of the dead, that night, and I helped Thanos kill them. - Gamora continues - Ronan didn't talk to anyone for nearly a week after that, he was so broken inside that I hurt to look at him." she reveals. Peter thinks he can imagine it. If he looked then anything like he had looked in the parking lot not long before, it would have been hard to watch.  
"That was Thanos' plan all along." Gamora continues relentlessly. The dam has broken and all the water must flow to the sea.  
"Ronan had been too strong-willed for the Mind Stone when he first came to him... But after that village... After that, Thanos could glue him back together as he wished. He made him into a weapon and pointed him at Xandar." she concludes.

"So are you saying that Thanos mind-fucked him into the Dark Side?!" Peter asks, feeling as if an electric shock has gone through him.  
Drax lifts a hand in the air like a kid with his teacher. "Star-Lord, what exactly do you mean with..." he starts to ask.  
"Oh no, I am not explaining _that_!" Peter exclaims, backing off. He should have a care about what metaphors he uses in front of Drax.  
"I wasn't going to ask about _that_! - Drax protests, shifting in colour under the tattoos - I wanted to know what the Dark Side is supposed to be." he clarifies.  
Rocket nods in approval, so Peter spends the next five minutes giving them a very abridged version of the Star Wars saga.  
"So you were referring Dark Side of one's inner self." Drax concludes at the end.  
Peter blinks a couple of times. "Yeah, I think so." he concedes.  
Drax nods to himself. "A true warrior knows the danger of losing oneself in his mission and becoming heartless." he declares.

"So you think that Thanos just went and made Crazy Smurf crazy? Just like that?" Rocket asks, steering clear from the Star Wars angle. Peter has the suspect that the topic will come out later, though. He will have to find a way of scavenging a copy of the VHS from somewhere.  
"It's more subtle than that, Rocket." Gamora replies wearily. Now the convulsive sobs have ceased, but she looks like she has not slept in ages, so tired that her green skin has acquired a grey-ish tinge.  
"Ronan was furious with the Xandarians, he wanted revenge, but he was not consumed by it. He was in control. - she explains - Thanos used the Mind Stone to bring forth his hate and stripped him of that control, letting his rage drive him, and suddenly the suggestion of destroying Xandar seemed so very appealing... What was an intimidation act became reality."

There is another long moment of silence. Peter reaches out and this time Gamora lets him hold her, burying her face into his shirt.  
"I should have stopped him, but I didn't care about Xandar. - she whispers - I was used to seeing things die because of Thanos. I only cared about getting out of there with my life..."  
She grabs his jacket and hugs him even closer, nearly squeezing the breath out of him.  
"It's OK, Gamora... It's alright. - Peter reassures, petting her hair - We know what Thanos did to you and your sister. It's not your fault. You did what you had to survive." he says but then a voice in his head starts buzzing.  
If Gamora is not to blame for the things she had done for Thanos, because she was coerced, if she can be forgiven, why should they elect themselves as judge, jury and executioner and condemn Ronan to a fate he considers worse then death? Why can't they give him a chance?  
Peter lays his chin on the top of Gamora's head and casts a long look to Drax. The Destroyer sighs and nods.  
"It seems that we are going to have to find a way to keep the Accuser in our custody." he rumbles.

Rocket sighs. "I don't see how it makes a difference. If the crazy blue dude is suicidal, staying in our company would not change things." he declares.  
"Let's put it this way, Rocket. - Peter proposes - What if next time they put you in prison they deactivated the implants that allow you to stand and talk? You could live, but it would be an unbearable life, right?" he asks. The horrified expression on Rocket's face says it all.  
"Being prisoner of the Xandarians would be almost like that for our blue friend there. - Peter continues - It will force him to live without something that makes him who he is and without hope of regaining it." he concludes.  
Rocket grinds his teeth together and snarls a bit, then his shoulders slump and he hangs his head.  
"Fine! - he exclaims - But I still don't like him!" he protests.  
"Neither do I, my furry friend." Drax agrees, patting the raccoon's head with one of his large hands.  
Peter doesn't like him either, he doubts anyone in the Galaxy likes Ronan, except maybe some die-hard Kree fanboys, but it doesn't change matters. This is about fairness, not about being friendly and cuddly.

As if on cue, the videocomm of the Milano goes off. Peter accepts the incoming call and is not very surprised to find out that the caller is none other than Nova Prime.  
"Let me guess, - Peter steals the first line - you have lost Ronan."  
The stern face of Nova Prime falls a little at his insight.  
"How do you know?!" she exclaims in surprise.  
Peter sighs. "We found him, or rather, he found us." he replies.  
"Are you all in one piece?" she asks. Maybe she is genuinely worried for them, or maybe she is just very good ad pretending. Politicians, you never know.  
"We are alright. Our mutual friend is a bit worse for the wear, but he'll survive." Peter volunteers.  
Nova Prime sighs in evident relief. "Thanks for dealing with the situation so swiftly. - she says - I'll send the best officers in the Nova Corps to collect him as soon as possible." she declares.  
Peter grimaces. There is no easy way of saying what he needs to say. She is not going to like it, but he can't chicken out now.

"I am afraid that there is a problem with that." he says.  
"A problem?" Nova Prime repeats, arching an eyebrow.  
"Yeah, well... it seems like we have stumbled upon a misunderstanding of cultural practices." he says, trying to muddy the waters.  
Nova Prime looks at him expectantly.  
Peter starts feeling heat creep along his neck. She reminds him of his primary school headmistress. He was slightly terrified of her, back then.

"I know it is nuts, but apparently, since he surrendered to us on Xandar, that would make him our prisoner, and he cannot in good conscience hand himself over to anyone else. - Peter explains, feeling like he is grasping at straws - And what's funny is that Drax's people have a similar custom, and it turns out that the only way for the deaths of his wife and daughter to be properly avenged is to have Ronan stay with us as our slave, sort of. Drax insists very much, I have to tell you." he adds lamely.  
Luckily this time Drax catches on and nods vigorously. "Their spirits will not be satisfied if he doesn't make amends with his service." he confirms, dead serious.

"I am sorry, but it is not possible. - Nova Prime replies - The Nova Empire cannot be seen to lose custody of such an important prisoner. And it cannot be seen to condone cruel and unusual punishments." she explains.  
"Oh, yeah? - Rocket interjects, hackles rising - And I suppose if they don't see you, everything is game..." he spits.  
He has only recently been recognized as sentient by the Xandarians and doesn't have very fond memories of their treatment of him before that. Actually, neither has Peter. The Xandarians like to present themselves as cosmopolitan and tolerant, but in truth they are quite parochial and racist against anyone who is not from the Empire, Terrans included. They consider their way of living the best one and consider everyone else in the Galaxy inferior or misguided. Even of he has fought for them, Peter does not like them.

"Just what do you think we would do to him, madam? - Peter asks, rather indignant - We are not a bunch of psychos. The worst we can do is to have him clean the ship and cook. Manual labour is what tradition mandates for _haaq_." he clarifies.  
"Well, Peter, that's cruel and unusual in itself. - Rocket interjects, giggling to himself - We haven't cleaned the Milano since we moved in. But at least it is not a Jackson Pollock any longer..."  
"Thanks for sharing, Rocket!" Peter chides him. Thankfully Nova Prime cannot know what they mean with that.  
The raccoon gives him a smile that uncovers his sharp, pointy teeth.

"It would be a very amusing sight, I am sure. - Nova Prime interjects coolly - But I am afraid it is still not possible. It is an important matter of image. We can't give the rest of the Galaxy the impression that we cannot keep control of our prisoners. It would give the Kree some room to wriggle away from abiding to the treaty."  
"Then don't. Make it look intentional. - Gamora chimes in - Make an event of it. We are your "champions", so to speak. Formally hand Ronan over to us in accordance to the traditions of his people. Make it public. This is a Kree cultural practice, they will understand it and respect it. We will get him out of your hair, and you will maintain your façade of respect towards the traditions of other cultures. Everyone will be happy." she proposes, and a bit of energy returns to her face.  
This is important for her. In a way, by doing this she is seeking atonement too.

Peter can see Nova Prime thinking about it, working the different political angles, seeing if she can truly exploit that proposal to boost Xandar's image and further demoralize the Kree.  
While the Kree are so attached to their ideals to come across as utterly, cruelly inflexible, Peter suspects that for the Xandarian government the lofty ideals they always speak of are but a thin veneer to disguise their ruthless practicality.  
"I might not know him a lot, - Peter chimes in trying to tip the balance - but it seems to me that our mutual friend is stubborn and resourceful enough to try again, if you take him in custody once more. And maybe next time he won't try to do the honourable thing and hand himself over." he adds giving her a knowing look.  
Nova Prime grimaces. Peter sees an opening and dives in.

"Maybe next time he'll go back home. And wouldn't that upset your plans for the pacification of the Kree?" he adds feigning innocence.  
"Are you implying that the Nova Corps cannot ensure the custody of that terrorist?" Nova Prime asks, nostrils flaring in outrage?  
"I am saying that you might have to resort to restrictive measures and forms of coercion that might be unpopular with the public." he replies suavely.  
Nova Prime gives him a hard stare. "And wouldn't you need to do the same?" she asks.  
Peter shakes his head. "Nope. - he replies - He is honor-bound to stay with us. He will remain willingly. That's the beauty of it." he explains smugly.  
Nova Prime is thinking hard and fast and Peter mentally encourages her, as if he could give her a nudge in the right direction.  
"I think it is totally messed up, but hey! Some people in the Galaxy are that weird." he comments cheerfully, giving Drax a playful glance.  
The Destroyer just shrugs. He is used to be considered weird.

"Then you guarantee that the prisoner would be kept under control in humane, decent conditions?" Nova Prime asks, raising a delicate eyebrow.  
Peter looks at the others before replying, because he knows this is going to be binding and that the Xandarians are going to be after their arses if things go pear-shaped.  
Drax nods, and Gamora does too, her eyes hard and shining. Rocket rolls his eyes, sighs, facepalms and bangs his head on the table, then finally nods too.  
"I guess we do." Peter replies.  
"Then we have a deal. - Nova Prime declares - You can keep the madman, if you are happy with it. Come back to Xandar, and bring back the items he appropriated. The PR team will work out a suitable ceremony, and once that's done we can get back to our normal business." she instructs flatly.  
"Uh... Alright." Peter agrees, wrong-footed by her practicality once more. She doesn't even give him enough time to say farewell before cutting the call.

"Well, that was easier than I had imagined." Peter comments, feeling slightly light-headed from the adrenaline withdrawal and the lack of sleep.  
No one seems much in the mood to celebrate. There will be time for that later.  
Now the only thing Peter Quill wants is to sleep for at least twelve hours.

His own body disregards his wishes, though. Peter finds himself awake only a few hours later, and unable to go back to sleep despite the warm body of Gamora snuggled close to him in the bed and despite how tired he is.  
He gets up and throws some clothes on, then pads to the holding cell.

Even if the doctor said that he would be unconscious for a lot of time, Peter is not surprised to find that Ronan is awake.  
Blue eyes zero in on him, as if the Kree is trying to pry his secrets out of him just by staring at him. Even covered in bruises, spread-eagled and tied up to the wall like a character in a cheap porn, the Kree still manages to look menacing and dignified.

"Hey buddy..." Peter greets him, sliding to the padded floor of the cell, close to the prisoner, but not close enough that he can grab him. He doesn't think he would, but safety first.  
"I told you that you'd make it." he adds when he obtains no response.  
"You were true to your word." Ronan comments, sounding slightly surprised.  
"Of course I was!" Peter replies, deeply offended.  
"You could have easily let me die. It was close... - the Kree insists - If I just bled out, no one would have been able to blame you and your people. Things like that happen on battlefields. You would have been free." he says calmly.  
"Sorry, bluebell, but we take our responsibilities a bit more seriously than that. - Peter declares, weirded out once more by his matter-of-fact attitude - You'd better get used to it." he adds teasingly.  
Ronan's eyes widen in surprise. "You have accepted my pledge?!" he says, looking torn between hope and diffidence.  
Peter nods vigorously. "The Nova have agreed to the arrangement. - he announces - You'll have it your way. I suspect you always do." he adds playfully.

The Kree relaxes so suddenly that it looks as if he has fainted in relief. He blinks rapidly, he must be nearly crying, and mutters something under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like a prayer.

"There is a catch though." Peter says. He doesn't want to break the man's good moment, but it is better to set everything straight from the start. This way he will have more time to adjust to the situation.  
"What is it?" Ronan asks.  
"The only way to have them agree to this was to let them make a ball of it. - Peter explains - There will be some sort of ceremony to mark your passage in our custody."  
Ronan watches him in silence. His moment of weakness has passed and now his stare is as impassive as it ever was.  
"We'll vet it and try to keep the humiliation to the minimum, but there is no way out of it." Peter adds, feeling oddly inadequate in his attempts to take charge of his prisoner.  
"It does not matter. - Ronan declares - Let them do whatever they want. I do not care. I can take it." he adds defiantly.  
He thinks he deserves it, Peter realizes. Gamora's words come back to his mind.

"Listen, bluebell..." he starts awkwardly. He doesn't know how to say it, but he cannot stand by and watch him perform self-harm by proxy because of something that is not entirely his fault.  
"Gamora told us... she told us what happened." he says.  
"Did she?" Ronan comments, not particularly impressed.  
"Yeah... I mean, she told us about the way Thanos played you all and made you do things... - he clarifies - Don't be too hard on yourself. It is not all your fault." he adds sympathetically.  
"It is instead, Terran. - Ronan retorts - He exploited our anger, twisted our honour. I was the leader. I should have seen it, I should have put an end to it. I should have been strong, and protected my men. But I was weak and desperate, instead. I let him twist us." he adds angrily. There is still a lot of anger in him, but it is mostly directed at himself.

"Thanos has the Mind Stone. He used it on you after you... after you finished with Drax's village. - Peter reveals - That is how he made you nearly destroy Xandar." he adds, but somehow he doesn't think it would help.  
As expected, the Kree shakes his head.  
"It does not matter. - he says - I had already reneged on the values that had guided me for my whole life, at that point. Getting what I wanted had become more important to me than acting justly." he confesses ruefully.  
"I did this to myself, Star-Lord._That_ is the truth, and I know it." he adds after a moment of silence.  
Most people try to make excuses for themselves. He does not. He is as inflexible and intransigent with himself as he is with the others. Peter cannot help admiring him at least a bit for it.

"I am sorry..." he starts, but doesn't manage to finish the sentence.  
"Don't you dare pity me, Star-Lord! - Ronan growls, tensing as if he is trying to sit up - Don't you fucking dare!" he threatens.  
Peter doesn't remember hearing him swear before, but now the Kree is so deeply upset that his eyes shine with tears and he is practically trembling in rage.  
"I don't. - Peter says wearily, leaning back and lifting his hands to placate him - I am sorry that so many lives were ruined because of Thanos. I mourn for all. That is it." he adds.  
Ronan slumps down on the bedroll again, breathing harshly.  
"Leave me alone, please..." he whispers.

Peter does, he doesn't want to see the proud Kree lose it again, knowing that nothing he can say or do would comfort him.  
He would be just an intruder and he doesn't fancy that. Ronan deserves at least a bit of dignity.  
He pads back to his room, instead, and slips back under the covers next to Gamora, but sleep is still long in coming.


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: some angst, overtones of BDSM.

On the last chapter someone pointed out that it didn't seem right for Ronan to be swearing in English. You're right, it does not, and in fact, he isn't.  
No one of the characters has been speaking any English whatsoever in this fic so far.  
They are speaking whatever international language is spoken in the MCU.  
Henceforth, I'm going to call this language Trader's Tongue or Trader's for short. It is supposed to be the _lingua franca_ of the setting, that is the langauge used for international commerce, diplomacy and travel. Role-wise,it is a bit like English, or like Latin used to be during the Middle Ages, but it is neither English nor Latin.  
All well-travelled or well-educated characters know Trader's, and in addition, they also know the languages from their own planets.

I hope this makes it clearer to everyone

Enjoy!

The Xandarians insist to have the ceremony performed as soon as possible.  
Ronan couldn't be more in agreement. He wants to get over with it and get on with the new phase of his life.

So, as soon as the bruises have faded (the Xandarians wouldn't want for anyone to think that he has been abused), he finds himself walking down the most central avenue of Xandar town, escorted by a cadre of guards and with his hands tied at his back.

He is barefoot and wearing clothes chosen by the staff of Nova Prime according to their distorted idea of what ceremonial Kree clothes look like. They must have looked up archaic art, so he has ended up wearing a long pleated kilt, tied at the waist with a wide, decorated sash, all in white, and nothing else.  
The cloth is new, crisp linen, the folds starched in sharp lines. His head is uncovered, and there is a lot more flesh on display than he would have liked. No one has dressed like that in the Kree Empire for at least a thousand years. Ronan doesn't just feel ridiculous, he feels under-dressed, exposed, and the eyes of the multi-coloured crowd standing on both sides of the avenue watch him hungrily. They all want to catch a glimpse of the vanquished enemy.

Even though his bruises have faded, he is still far from restored. The scar on his stomach is still black, raised, and rather painful, and he is still weak from the loss of blood.  
They climb the raised platform where Nova Prime and the rest of the Xandarian government are waiting. Ronan is grateful when the guards stop and part, leaving him to face the Xandarian government.  
He sinks to his knees, as agreed. He doesn't think he would have managed to stand for much longer anyway.

Nova Prime barely looks his way. She starts her speech, instead. Ronan intentionally zones out, disconnecting himself from his surroundings so that her words become a hushed drone. He is sure that she is talking about Xandarian values and the superiority of Xandarian civilization. He doesn't have the stomach for that, especially as he knows first-hand that the key principles of their government are not really justice and virtue, but the pursuit of strategic economic interests and plausible deniability.

The speech goes on and on. Ronan concentrates on the pattern of golden threads in Nova Prime's stole of office, making a private game of following each thread from end to end. He wonders if the design is symbolic. If it is, he cannot imagine what it should stand for.

When it is finally over, the crowd explodes into a loud cheer. Ronan switches his attention back to his surroundings.  
Nova Prime is holding something in her hands, something that looks like a thick metallic arc.  
She lifts a hand and two guards hold him by his shoulders. Nova Prime places the arc around his neck and snaps it closed. It is a restraining collar.  
He should have imagined.

One of the guards attaches a chain to the ring riveted into the front of the collar, and hands the chain over to Nova Prime. She takes it and holds it proudly, looking down at him with a haughty, domineering expression.  
Ronan meets her eyes and refuses to look down.  
"You are not my mistress." he thinks defiantly. He can see a spark of anger light in her light-coloured eyes. She glares at him, willing him to submit, but he won't give her that satisfaction. He will submit to the Guardians only.

It takes only a moment for him to start feeling a firm pressure against his windpipe. Nova Prime is clenching something in her free hand. Ronan bets it is a remote for the restraining collar.  
He doesn't look down. She can't hurt him in any noticeable way while they are in public, it would defeat all her "humane treatment of prisoners" routine. He can defy her for a while longer, he tells himself.  
The pressure increases steadily, making it harder for him to breathe, and then cutting his air supply almost completely. Dark spots start to cloud his vision, but he doesn't back down. He keeps looking straight at her.  
Her pupils are dilated, her nostrils flare with her quickened breaths, and a hint of colour has appeared on her pale face. She doesn't seem angry any longer, though. How strange...  
The realization of what is going on hits him in a flash: Nova Prime is getting aroused by their little fight for dominance.  
Ronan finds the notion deeply unsettling. He is too embarrassed to look at her any longer, and lowers his gaze, conceding.  
As soon as he does that, the pressure disappears and he can breathe freely once more.

Nova Prime yanks the chain, signalling to him that it is time to move. She leads him a few steps away, to where the Guardians are waiting. Ronan kneels once more. He keeps his head down for his true masters and can only see their feet and lower legs, but the clinking of the chain tells him that he is being handed over.

"I give this man to you. - Nova Prime announces - Treat him humanely and according to all virtues." she adds and Ronan has to stifle a laugh. He has just realized how horribly like a traditional marriage ceremony this is looking, only he is the bride, and all the Guardians are the grooms. He wonders whether it is just a coincidence, or the Nova know more about the traditions of taking and keeping _haaq_ than they have so far shown.

A warm hand presses against his chin, forcing him to look up. Instinctively, he closes his eyes, trying to avoid disrespecting his masters. There is a sigh.  
"Look at us, Ronan of House Danu." Gamora orders.  
Ronan obeys, rather surprised. He has not been called so since he was fifteen. He has always been only the Accuser ever since his investiture.  
He and his grandfather were the last two members of his noble House. Now that he is _haaq_, House Danu is no more.  
Gamora is looking at him sternly, but her sternness is tempered by some sort of sympathy.

"Do you pledge to serve our family in all things to the best of your abilities, until you have fully atoned your deeds against us?" Drax asks solemnly.  
"I do." Ronan replies, trying to keep his voice loud and clear.  
"Then this is no longer necessary." Star-Lord chimes in, kneeling in front of him to detach the chain from his collar.  
The Terran rises and steps behind him. Ronan hears a knife slide out of its sheath, and the ropes binding his wrists fall to the ground.  
"And neither is this." he adds, retaking his position in front of him.

"Rise, Ronan of House Danu. - Gamora orders - Take your place among us."  
She holds out her hand to him. He hesitates only a moment before taking it and letting her help him to his feet.  
Gamora smiles gently and signals for him to take his place behind her.  
Star-Lord hands him a white hooded cloak and he gratefully dons it, hiding as much as he can in its folds. The cloth is soft and warm. He represses a shiver. Only now he realises how cold he has been feeling during the ceremony.  
Star-Lord discreetly pat him on the back and winks, trying to reassure him.

As he had said to him the first night, the Guardians take their responsibilities seriously, and somehow, even if they are not Kree and know nothing about the traditions of his people, they have realized that, while it is his duty to serve them, it is their duty to protect him. They do it as if it is natural to them.  
Their protection makes him feel safe, and gives him the strength to stand straight for the rest of the ceremony, ignoring the angry, spiteful looks the Nova officers are giving him.

Maybe he has been too quick to judge the Guardians based on his assumptions about non-Kree, he thinks as he follows them to their little, colourful ship and into his new life. Maybe they will treat him right.  
Even though he knows he doesn't deserve any sort of respite, the idea comforts him.


	9. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: lots of angst, slight cultural misunderstandings, language, a panic attack.

Enjoy!

His first impression is confirmed over and over during the first few weeks of his life as a _haaq_.  
The Guardians are rash, loud, disorganized and undisciplined, they are often rude to each other and to other people, and their ship is filthy and messy, but they are not the honour-less barbarians that he had imagined them to be. Obviously it is not like being _haaq_ to another Kree House would be, but it is not terrible as it could be.

Even though he is their property now, the Guardians treat him with respect, and try their hardest not to humiliate him further. They have never beaten him yet, not even once.

He is still sleeping in the holding cell, but that's because there is no room anywhere else on the ship, and they have not chained him ever since the ceremony.  
The collar has stayed, but they never use it to restrain him, even if Nova Prime has given them the remote. He has not done anything worth restraining, yet, but still...  
They hold absolute power over him, but exert the utmost moderation in using it. It is strange how they spontaneously act in accordance to Pama's teachings even if they don't know them.  
They are nothing like the Xandarians. They are much better.

The most the Guardians have done, is giving him "ground rules" as if he was a young child in need of house-training.  
They have given him clothes, normal ones, with long sleeves and a hood, to allow him to cover himself, and even shoes.  
Some masters don't, fearing that their _haaq_ would try to escape if they had the chance. The Guardians seem to trust him, instead. They even give him leave to perform some physical activity when they are planet-side, so that he can keep healthy and reasonably fit.  
They confide in his honour, in spite of what he has done. He is immensely grateful for that.

Their life is semi-nomadic and simple. The Guardians don't need much in terms of service. He does what he can, he tries to make himself useful.  
Most of his time, he spends scrubbing the ship clean. It is amazing how filthy they have let it become. It is nothing that soap and scourer cannot solve, though. It is a bit like when he was a cadet and he and his classmates took turns to scrub clean the classes and the halls of the Academy, only it is always his turn.  
He tackles one room at a time, and scrubs it until it is so clean that the Guardians could use the metal fittings as mirrors and eat straight from the floor, then moves to the next the following day.  
When they land somewhere, he scrubs the outside too, revealing the bright orange and blue paint hidden under layers of dirt.

When he is not scrubbing, he cooks, cleans the dishes, repairs odds and ends that have been left in disrepair or looks after the plant-child.  
At first the Guardians tease him a bit about his cooking, which to begin with is limited to reheating canned food and other kinds of ready meals. He learns quickly, though, and even though he can't cook anything fancy, at least the food he prepares is edible, which is more than what can be said about the results of Rocket's cooking.

The Guardians seem satisfied by his service. He cannot help feeling proud of it. It is the only kind of pride he has left.  
It is evident however, that the Guardians are not used to having servants, not just _haaq_, but any kind.  
A good servant should be discreet, unobstrusive. When he finishes his chores, he tries to make himself scarce, retreating to the cell, but they do not allow him to do so. If he disappears, they come looking for him, they inquire if he is alright and order him back to the common spaces, as if he was a real member of the crew.  
Likewise, they insist for him to take his meals with them, at the table, try to drag him into their conversations and even force him to pick the radio station sometimes.  
It is altogether too much honour for the likes of him, but as much as he tries to dissuade them, his efforts are vain, and they keep treating him much better than he deserves, even if its inclusion in their lives is clearly putting a strain in their relationship.

There is tension in the air, and that easy camaraderie he has witnessed the night of his second capture is stifled by his presence.  
Even though they trust him to uphold his pledge, he is not their friend, actually, they hardly know him. They don't know what to say to him, and though they try, the conversations seem always a bit contrived and fall to the wayside quite quickly, leaving them to deal with uncomfortable silences.

That is only a minor inconvenience, though. Overall, his new life is pleasant. Too pleasant even.  
The Guardians take good care of him, and he recovers fully from all injuries. He has nothing to worry about apart from what to cook the following day, and nothing to demonstrate to anyone. He doesn't recall it ever happening since he was six.  
In spite of himself, he feels safe and relaxed.

Paradoxically, though, his nightmares become worse and worse with every passing night, as strong and detailed as they were when he was in his first years of Academy.  
He no longer dreams only of the fire that took his family, but also of Drax's village, and of all the people that Thanos had ordered him to kill.

The subject does not matter though, he deals with them the same way he used to when he was a child. He tries to exhaust himself during the day and meditates before going to bed, trying to steer his dreams towards more pleasant paths.  
Like then, these two methods help very little, and he has to gag himself with a piece of cloth every night, so that when the nightmares overcome him and he wakes up screaming, he won't shame himself by waking anyone else.  
The padded walls and floor of the cell help, and no one seems to be the wiser.  
He doesn't want his masters to know his weakness, he tries his hardest for them not to know.  
Eventually, they end up knowing anyway, but, in hindsight, it is a good thing for everyone.

One of the strangest things about the Guardians, is the importance of music in their daily life. They listen to some kind of tune all the time on the ship, and Star-Lord even has a strange portable device that he uses to listen to his tunes when he is planet-side. It looks remarkably primitive, but the Terran is clearly attached to it.  
Ronan soon learns that it was a parting gift from Star-Lord's deceased mother, and that he still listens to it in her honour. Honouring her is also the main the reason why he always seems to prefer listening to a limited set of tunes.  
Terrans have very strange funerary customs, he decides, but, to be honest, even he remembers fondly his mother's favourite tune, the one she used to sing to him and Rory as a lullaby.

Star-Lord's tunes are the ones the Guardians listen to most frequently, as they seem to please everyone, but sometimes they get bored of them and turn on the radio.  
It turns out that Star-Lord, Gamora and the sapling are all fond of lively, dancy tunes, while Drax likes complex orchestral compositions and chorals, and Rocket favours brash and angry songs with a hard, fast beat.  
Much to his surprise, his own tastes oscillate between Drax's and Rocket's, depending on his mood. It doesn't take long for him to start having favourite bands and songs. He had never had the time for such frivolities before.

It turns out that the ship he has stolen on Xandar actually belongs to one of his new favourite bands, who have made a song about the event.  
They haven't asked for their clothes back, so he has washed the blood off them and still wears them sometimes. The garish leggings apparently used to belong to their frontman, and are supposed to be "famously suggestive".  
Ronan doesn't understand why, since apart from the colour they are not very different from the ones he used to wear under his armour. Maybe mainstream galactic culture frowns upon men who wear tight clothes, who knows?  
The Guardians don't seem to mind him wearing them, though. Star-Lord and Gamora give him strange looks sometimes when he does, but they never openly comment on it or chide him, so he just lets go.

When all hell breaks loose, it is his turn to pick the radio.  
They are flying not far from Kree space, and he does feel a bit homesick from time to time, so he asks his masters the authorization to look for Kree transmissions. The Guardians not only agree, but actively encourage him. They are curious about the music of his people.  
Ronan can't help but be pleased about it and fiddles with the tuner, until he eventually finds the main Kree radio station.  
They are broadcasting a polyphonic hymn to Pama, one of the most solemn and majestic ones. It is one of his favourite and a pleasant shiver runs through him.  
Judging from the amazing acoustics, if he had to bet, he would say it had been recorded in the new Great Temple of Pama, on Hala.  
He has never been in there since the accident, he can't bring himself to cross that threshold. The closest he has got are the gardens, but some of his colleagues had told him that it is even more beautiful that the one the Xandarians destroyed and that the concerts they sometimes hold in there are magnificent.  
He closes his eyes and lets himself soak in the music. He has is happy to be able to share something so beautiful with his masters, and he feels proud that they are liking it, that maybe they are realizing that his people are good for something else apart from fighting and smiting people.

When the music stops, no one is in a hurry to change station. Ronan hopes that there will be at least another song, but his hopes are thwarted.  
The anchor starts talking and it is a voice he knows.

It is Derdriyu, one of the high priestesses of Pama. Like him, she is a survivor of the Great Temple, only the fire took her eyes as well as her family. She lost her sight, but she found her true vocation as a servant of Pama. Ever since the reconstruction of the Temple, she has rarely left it. Ronan has never understood how she can stay there, with the ghosts of the dead all around. He admires her, she is much stronger than he could ever be, and she has always been a guiding light for all the survivors of the Great Fires.

"With this song, we want to remember all our brothers and sisters who have lost their lives in the fire of the Great Temple twenty-five years ago" Derdriyu is saying.  
Ronan feels disoriented. Is it already _that_ day? He has lost track of time since Xandar. How could he forget the Day of Remembrance, though?  
Guilt rises in his heart, erasing all the peaceful feelings the hymn had kindled in him.

"Even though the Council has forbidden public commemorations for fear of anti-Xandarian disorders, we have not forgotten you." the priestess continues.  
Wait, what?! They have forbidden the commemorations?! What about the families of the dead?! What about the survivors?! They cannot cancel the memory of such a huge, public tragedy at a whim, to spare the sensibilities of the Xandarians!  
Except that they can, and his deeds have given the Council the perfect excuse.

"They say it is all Number Nine's fault, and yes, it is, and yes, it is hard to forgive him now, seeing what has come out of his deeds, but brothers and sisters, he once was one of us." Derdriyu argues, her voice soft and nearly breaking. Ronan realizes that she is talking about him.  
He is Number Nine, the ninth last survivor of the Great Temple.

"He suffered with us, he fought with us. He was our champion once. He wanted justice for us all. - she continues softly, but every word is like a knife stabbed through his heart - For all the wrong he has done, don't be rash in your judgement of him, not as the Council has been in striking him from the rolls."  
"Oh, Pama..." Ronan thinks, and his heart freezes in dread. They have struck him from the rolls...  
Did Fiyero come up with that on his own, or did the Xanxarians nudge him?  
Either way, it is done. He no longer exists for the Kree government, he never has, and it is forbidden even to speak his name. Derdriyu is taking a risk in even alluding to him.  
Even if he somehow manages to atone and survive, he will never be allowed to go home. Now truly he has nothing left.

"Pama teaches us forgiveness, and, while we cannot forgive him now, and maybe we won't be able to do so for a long time, he is still our brother. It would be unfair to deny it. - Derdriyu goes on with her sermon - Whatever demon grew in his soul, it could be growing in yours too. That is why we pray Pama to give us the strength to do true justice and act with mercy..." she explains. A prayer starts, but he hasn't any strength left to listen to it.

He knew it could come to that. He knows he deserves it, but the idea that the Council, that Nova Prime's man, has just formally erased him from existence, is too much for him to bear. They are making a bogeyman out of him, using what he has done to silence any remaining opposition to the treaty and to the influence of Xandar. He has sullied even the Remembrance of the Great Fires, something he has always held even more sacred than Pama itself.

He has thought that he could bear any punishment, but this... this is unbearable.  
Suddenly, he cannot bear to stand there any longer. He cannot bear to know that his masters know.  
Rocket, Drax and Gamora haven't reacted to the sermon, probably they don't know the Kree language, but Star-Lord is looking his way with worry etched on his face. His translator implants... probably they can only provide a basic rendering of the meaning, but it is enough.

"Hey, buddy! Are you alright? What was that about?" he asks, trying to grab his wrist.  
Ronan jerks away. He doesn't want to be touched.  
"I... I ask your leave to retire." he manages to spit out. His voice trembles pitifully.  
Star-Lord hesitates, casts a glance to Gamora and then nods. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Ronan does not hear him, he is already stumbling away.

If they had been planet-side, he would have run until collapse, trying to somehow escape the truth. As it is, he can only make a few steps down the corridor to his cell and slam the door behind him to get away from it all.  
He curls into a ball in one corner of the cell. He is trembling. His heart races in his chest, and his whole body is shaking. He can hardly breathe and he doesn't know why. He doesn't know what is happening to him, and it terrifies him. It is so bad that he thinks that he is going to die, like that, crying in a corner like a pathetic, frightened child, without honour, without meaning.

It would have been better for him to burn in the Temple with his family, at least he would be with them in the underworld, but now they have erased him, and he has lost them a second time. He has no one now...

And as if called by the memories of his loved ones, the fire visits him once more, and unlike a dream from which he can wake, he cannot escape this time. It seems so real... Maybe it is real, maybe he is dead and this is hell, and his punishment is to be forever trapped in that moment, when he burns, and falls, and loses everything he has ever loved...

Something hits him in the face. Hard.  
Ronan opens his eyes and takes a deep, gasping breath, reaching out for whatever has hit him.  
He is sitting against the wall of his cell, tightly wedged in a corner. He has vague memories of how he got there. His left cheek stings from the force of the slap Star-Lord has given him.  
He blinks. What is Star-Lord doing there? Why is he so worried, he asks himself.  
His thoughts are sluggish and he feels cold... terribly cold, like he can't get warm anymore.

"Stay with me, buddy. - Star-Lord orders - Stay with us, alright?" he adds.  
Ronan nods weakly, teeth chattering.  
"Jeez, bluebell! - the Terran exclaims with evident relief - You were so far gone that I thought we had lost you..." he adds.  
Ronan manages to move enough to turn his head and see that Gamora, Drax and Rocket are hovering near the door. They also look worried.

The sapling is there too. He is pulling himself out of his vase by force, and as soon as his roots touch the ground, he rushes towards him and Star-Lord, and, without hesitation, wraps himself around Ronan's shoulders, as if trying to keep him warm.  
The sapling mutters a continuous, low stream of "I am Groot". Ronan doesn't need to understand his language to know that he means to comfort him. Somehow, some of the cold fades away.

"Seriously, bluebell! What the hell happened in there?! - Star-Lord asks - What was that woman saying? What is the Great Fire?" he continues frantically. So many questions, so much worry...  
Why they all worry so much about him?  
"I am Groot..." the sapling says, nuzzling against his face.  
"You're right, little one... - Ronan thinks - It's because they care." He doesn't understand why they care, or how he has finally understood what the plant child is saying, but when Star-Lord says "Please, tell us what the hell is going on! We need to know it, otherwise we can't help you!", he does tell them.

He tells them about the "surgical strike" of the Great Temple, about his family, about the pain and the anguish and the loss, about being forbidden to speak about it, and then about his quest for justice, for closure, and finally about his failure.  
He tells them everything, even things he has never told anyone else. It is as if once opened, the floodgates of confession cannot be closed until everything has flowed out of him.

Halfway through his sobbing ramblings, Gamora steps in and comes to sit at his side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders in an awkward one-armed hug.  
Star-Lord does the same soon after, sitting on the other side of him, then Rocket sits in Gamora's lap. Drax is the last to move and sits at Gamora's other side.  
By the time he has finished talking, Ronan doesn't feel cold any longer. Their presence and support have warmed him like nothing else could.

The silence after his confession lasts only a few moments, before Gamora starts talking in turn. She speaks of the parents she barely remembers, of wanting to be a dancer, and of how Thanos had beaten and tortured that desire out of her. She speaks of killing, of being unable to feel anything at all, until she met the Guardians. She speaks of her guilt and her shame at the things Thanos has made her do.

She cries, and Ronan finds himself returning the awkward hug. He has never paused to think about her and Nebula's life, when they were living together in the Dark Aster. To him they were just two more competent officers, and most likely spying on him for Thanos. He has never imagined what a horror their life must have been, and yet it is her who says she is sorry. It is her who apologizes for letting him do the things he has done, for not stopping him.  
Little Groot flows from her shoulders to her lap and hugs her and Rocket, while the Raccoon lists an impressive series of physically impossible things he will do to Thanos once they get the drop on him.

The little furry loudmouth is trembling in rage and starts to cry too.  
He speaks of how he has come to be, as a test subject of a group of scientists trying to build a perfect, inconspicuous, infiltration agent. He speaks of the pain of his making, of the horror, of the loneliness of being one of a kind, despised and belittled by all.  
"But now I am not alone any longer. - he says - You are my fucking family and I will fucking destroy whoever harms you! D'you hear me? Anyone! No matter what!" he shouts between sobs, gripping Gamora's top in a death grip and burying his face against her middle.

"I hear you, Rocket Raccoon. - Drax says, sniffling - And I likewise vow to do so. You are the only thing that has kept me from losing myself to the Dark Side after the death of my family." he declares.  
The Destroyer speaks about his pain and the emptiness that had taken over him once they were gone, and Ronan understands it all too well, because Drax's suffering mirrors his own perfectly.  
How could have he inflicted that pain on someone else so wantonly? And only to preserve his honour as a warrior?  
How could have he thought it was a fair exchange? How could have he thought it would be acceptable because they were just non-Kree savages?  
They were people, flesh and blood, like him, just with different colours and customs.  
He had had everything wrong on that subject. His whole people has it wrong! He wishes he could go back and tell them. He wishes he could somehow fix this.

Star-Lord shifts around, forcing the entire group to rotate slightly, so that he can hug Drax too, like Gamora is doing. Rocket and Groot are trapped in the middle of them, but they don't seem to mind, upon the contrary, the raccoon is finally relaxing into Gamora's hold.

"I know how you guys feel... - Star-Lord whispers, stroking Drax's tattooed back as the Destroyer sobs - When my mum died, I felt the same." he reveals.  
Taken by the confession-fever as well, Star-Lord tells them about his life in a small, narrow-minded town on Terra, about all the scorn his mother had to suffer for having a child out of wedlock, about her illness, about seeing her fade away day by day without being able to do anything to help, about being so scared and in denial about her death to be unable to take her hand as she passed... and then of how the Ravagers had taken him, of how terrified he was at first and of how they have become his new, crazy, marauding family.  
He tells them that he has always thought that they had kidnapped him for a lark, because they were close to Terra and fancied a mascot, but now Nova Prime has told him that his father is an alien, and Yondu has told him that it was his arsehole of a father who commissioned his kidnapping. He could have collected him and his mother at any time, he could have spared them years of humiliation, he could have saved her, and yet he didn't care enough to do so...

"If we meet him, I'm so breaking his face..." Rocket declares sleepily, nuzzling against Ronan's side and curling up in the space between him and Gamora.  
"Thanks buddy..." Star-Lord says, ruffling the fur on his head. He starts chuckling low, almost under his breath.  
"We are so messed up, we should all go to a therapist, maybe we'd get a group discount..." he comments.  
"What is therapy?" Drax asks quietly.  
Star-Lord shrugs. "It's when you talk to someone about your problems, and they help you feel better." he replies.  
"Then this is therapy already. - Drax declares - I feel a lot better thanks to you." he adds.  
Ronan cannot help but second the motion. He feels relaxed and calm, almost lighter inside. At his side, Rocket and Groot have already surrendered to sleep, hugging each other tightly, and Gamora is nearly there.  
"Next time, bluebell, talk to us before you lose it that way, will you?" Star-Lord asks him.  
Ronan nods, feeling that his eyes are closing on their own. It is likely that there will be a next time, but somehow the perspective doesn't daunt him as much as it should. The Guardians have his back, he is safer than he ever was.  
This is why he doesn't resist when sleep claims him, why for once no dreams torment him.

They wake up in a heap a few hours later, sore and stiff from the awkward position, but restored.  
They disentangle with a bit of embarrassment, but no one seems upset. Ronan has never thought that he would need any sort of reassurance and comfort, that he was stronger than that, but actually he does and maybe he has always needed it. The Guardians will share it with him, he has no doubt. They need it too, they need each other to be sane and happy.

He he might have lost everything else, but he has them, and, by everything that is sacred, he will do anything in his power to keep them. He won't let them come to any harm.  
And that is when he realizes that he has already succumbed to the bane of most _haaq_, and earlier than most. He knows that he is starting to care about his captors as if they were his own flesh and blood, but for once he doesn't want to fight against that feeling. It is a good feeling, and he likes it.


	10. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: none really. There is some cultural incomprehension, and some slight angst, but a lot more light-hearted than in the previous chapter, plus Ronan's confused boner.

After their "little" breakdown, things change between him and the Guardians. It seems as if now they really _know_ each other, now that they have seen each other at their weakest, and have learned of each other's deepest fears and anguishes. No one tries to belittle anyone else for them. Actually, it seems as if there is a deeper respect between them now, a deeper understanding and more tolerance for everyone's quirks and moods.  
The conversations start to flow around the table and in the cockpit, they start feeling natural and not a form of enforced politeness.

Ronan knows that he should not, that he should be ashamed that he hasn't managed to stay strong and aloof from his masters, but he is glad that doesn't have to hide anything from them anymore. It is relieving.  
Now that he knows about his nightmares, little Groot has taken to sneak into his cell at least a bit of time every night, and curl himself against him to comfort him.  
Sometimes Rocket does that too, and he wakes up in the morning with an armful of rumpled, groggy, furry mechanic. They don't make a big deal of it. He has nightmares, Rocket has nightmares, by sleeping together they have less of them. It is a sensible arrangement, and no one seems to take it amiss.

So far Ronan had been seeing the Guardians through the filter of his expectations about them. He has interpreted them as _haaq-_masters, as non-Kree, and as bounty-hunters in turn, but rarely as just people. The realisation that Drax's feelings about his lost family are the same as his for his own has been an eye-opener for him. From then onwards, he tries to see them as they really are, to observe without judging.

He used to be quite good at observing, it was part of his job as an Accuser, and it seems that his fall has not dulled his perceptive and deductive abilities. As soon as he starts truly looking, he starts noticing things: how Rocket likes to sleep wedged in tight spaces when he is not curled against someone else, the care with which Drax hones his knives, how Gamora's cybernetics sometimes pain her, making her movements slightly less fluid and her moods more mercurial. He notices more subtle things too, the smell of Gamora's shampoo, what is Peter's favourite beer, and that Rocket likes some "exotic" food that the others would not even look at. Acting on his observations would seem like the next natural step, but he is torn.

Ideally, a _haaq_ should serve faithfully, but should not become attached to their masters, and should be ready to return to their previous life at the drop of a hat if they are freed.  
Some masters make it easy for their _haaq_, by keeping their distance or treating them with scorn. Most _haaq_, especially those who are taken young, and treated with care end up enjoying their fate, and loving their masters as if they were their family. This behaviour is considered with a fair amount of scorn by the upper castes of the Kree. If his grandfather could see him now, he would express all his disapproval.  
Pama however says to repay kindness with kindness, and to be considerate to all. If Her message is so universal, it cannot apply only to Kree.

It takes a while for Ronan to come to terms with his inner conflict, but by the time Gamora's shampoo needs to be replaced once more, he has firmly decided that the path he plans to follow is right by the spirit of Pama's teachings, even if maybe not by the writ of Kree law. It is rather unsettling for him to break away from that anchor, but it is totally worth the dread of the leap.

He is now in charge of most supply runs when they are planet-side and, especially when money is plentiful from some successful bounty, or when they are on planets where bargaining is acceptable, it is no great chore to him to get a few extra things to make the Guardians happy. Once it is some medicinal herbal tea for Gamora, or her favourite brand of shampoo, next time it's some deep-fried bugs or some electronic junk for Rocket, or fertilizer for Groot.  
They smile at him, and he feels proud of having put that smile on their faces.

When Drax's whetstone and weapon oil need to be replaced, Ronan doesn't think twice about including them in his next supply run. He haggles with the weapon-smith at the market, and proudly presents his catch to the Destroyer when he comes back.  
Drax's skin subtly shifts colour and he looks at him with a slightly worried look.

Ronan has been observing him for long enough to realize that Drax's species does not have a blushing reflex like his or Star-Lord's. The pigments of his skin actually change slightly in response to his emotions.  
The subtle shift in nuance from greenish-grey to brownish-green likely means embarrassment.  
Ronan takes a mental step back.

"Did I just step on some cultural practice I didn't know of? - he asks, growing rather embarrassed too - Have I offended you?"  
Drax shakes his head, and grows even more brownish. "No, you have not. - he replies - This is... what you have been doing with us lately... all those gifts..." he stammers, and Ronan realizes that whatever it is all about, it must be serious, because Drax is rarely anything less than blunt.  
"It seems to me that you are trying to court us. - he blurts out - For marriage." he adds, as if it wasn't clear enough.  
If he grows any more brown, Ronan thinks, he'll look like Korath. His cheeks are burning too, and must be nearly indigo with embarrassment.  
"Ah. - he manages - I didn't... well, it's not as if I wouldn't be honoured by... by an alliance between our Houses..." he replies, reverting to a formality he has grown unused to.  
"But courting you wasn't really my intention." he adds immediately.  
"Ah, I see... - Drax says, sighing and growing greener in relief - I... I am glad. I don't think I would enjoy having sex with a man... even if you are rather handsome... I mean..." he adds, and a brown tinge returns to his skin.  
Ronan feels like he is going to pass out in embarrassment. "You are a fine specimen of warrior too... - he retorts, not wanting to offend him - Rest assured that none of the gifts that I might give you in the future will be given in the intent of courting you." he explains.  
Drax nods again. "So, who are you using me as a decoy for? - he asks cheerfully - Is it Gamora? Or is it Star-Lord?"  
"I... I beg your pardon?" Ronan retorts, as his brain refuses to parse the question.  
"Come on, Accuser, I know how these things work. We used to do the same in my village. Misdirection. Inciting jealousy in your chosen partner. - Drax continues, blissfully unaware of his confusion - It is a rather dangerous tactic though. And you don't really need it. You have good chances already, with both, but especially with Star-Lord. I have seen how he looks at you when you wear those trousers..." he adds, winking in complicity.  
"Trousers...?" Ronan asks weakly.  
Drax nods. "Yes, the trousers you stole on Xandar. The ones that make you look like you are on display." he clarifies.  
Oh, Ronan thinks, those. Why is everyone so hung up on that garment? And how has he never noticed that people were looking at him in... inappropriate ways?  
"My intentions have nothing to do with wooing anyone." he declares, rigid with embarrassment.  
Drax tilts his head to one side. "Oh, I thought..." he starts.  
Ronan shakes his head. "It would be totally inappropriate for me to do so." he explains.  
"Well, if it is so..." Drax concedes, sounding far from convinced.  
"It is." Ronan confirms.  
"Thanks for your gift anyway. It was much appreciated." Drax declares finally, putting an end to one of the most embarrassing conversations he has ever had in his life.

Later on that night, when he is in his cell, lying on his bedroll, snippets of their conversation slowly float in his mind.  
Does Star-Lord really look at him inappropriately from time to time? He cannot imagine why.  
He has never considered himself an attractive man and neither have others. The only reason why well-born women sought him out back home, and even that was rare, was his lofty position and the station of his family.  
Not that he cared back then. He had never had time for romantic pursuits, and he had never truly been attracted to anyone. That was an area in which he didn't really function normally.

Maybe Drax has just had the wrong impression. During his work as an Accuser, he had come to appreciate the fact that eyewitness statements, are often inaccurate and that people have a tendency to see what they want to see.  
True knowledge comes from the repeated observation of reality in controlled conditions, so the following day he wears his objectionable trousers and waits for a reaction. He doesn't have to wait long. Star-Lord comes to breakfast, and as he sits down he casts a long glance at him.  
Ronan pretends he hasn't seen it and forces himself to stay calm. One observation could be happenstance.

By the end of the day, he has observed enough to be reasonably sure that Drax was right: Star-Lord looks at him in _that_ way, and not just him. Gamora does too. He has even caught her staring dreamily at him while he cooked dinner.  
Ronan doesn't know how to feel. He is pleased of the attention, but embarrassed and slightly frightened by it. Most of all, he feels guilty about it.

Many _haaq _end up being forced into sexual situations by their masters, it is a sad fact of life, and one against which they cannot resist.  
Whoring oneself out to one's masters is an easy way of gaining their favour, but it is considered an undignified, morally reproachable act, even worse than growing to care for one's masters. It is seen as dishonest and underhanded.  
Growing to like being used in that way is bad enough, but actually trying to seduce them into doing it... he shudders at the thought.

He should not encourage such interests in his masters. They still have absolute power over him, even if they pretend that they don't, and he might end up being ordered in their bed anyway, but at least he doesn't want it to be because of his behaviour. The whole matter is something he definitely wouldn't be comfortable with.

The Xandarian trousers end up at the bottom of his stash of clothes and he stops bringing gifts to either Gamora or Star-Lord. He is not sure they would equate to courtship in their eyes too, but he thinks it is better to be safe than to be sorry. He doesn't want to surrender his last shreds of dignity by becoming their sex slave. He is not attracted by them, he tells himself.  
They are not Kree, and Star-Lord is pale and stubbly, while Gamora is far too muscular for the standards of beauty he is used to.

Now that he has gotten into the mindset of observing them, however, he cannot help but noticing how Star-Lord's eyes light up when he smiles and the slight tan of his skin when he spends lots of time planet-side, and the way he laughs, and how Gamora's cybernetics blend in with her green skin and her two-toned hair whips around her face when she trains.  
She has started to do some dance training too, to reconnect with her more innocent past, and one day he catches himself looking intently at her as she dances, marveling at the play of muscles under her soft skin and imagining how it would feel to run his hands over it, the contrast between cold cybernetics and warm flesh, between hardness and softness.  
As soon as he realizes what he is doing, he snaps out of it and stalks away, fleeing from the temptation.

From then onwards he avoids watching her as she trains, but now that he has opened that door, it cannot be closed, and he is more and more frequently surprised by moments of loss of control.  
Once he is brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and Star-Lord waltzes in dressed only in a pair of boxer briefs, thinking nothing of it. Ronan sees him only for a moment before averting his eyes, but he is so mesmerized by what he saw, that later that evening he ends up cutting himself quite badly as he chops the vegetables for dinner out of how intensely he was recalling it.  
He cannot un-see the beauty and the attractiveness of their forms, and the Milano is so cramped that there is no way of avoiding to look at them for long spans of time.  
His body starts responding to them both in mortifying ways, and he doesn't know how to stop being affected by the two of them.  
He has never taken so many ice-cold showers in his life.


	11. Chapter 11

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: cute awkwardness and awkward cuteness, plus some violence. You're gonna like this!

Enjoy!

* * *

Weeks pass, and his new, forbidden urges seem to fade slightly. If the Guardians have noticed his predicament, they have made no mention of it and Gamora and Star-Lord surely haven't tried to step things up ever since.  
It is relieving and it allows him to return to a certain degree of normalcy.  
He is no longer so frequently plagued by fits of inappropriate stiffening of his manly parts when he looks at them, but a strange sort of longing has grown in his heart, deepening the way he cares for them compared to the rest of the Guardians. He feels awkward and almost awed in their presence, but he tries to hide it behind the formal attitude engrained in him by his grandfather.  
It is the only way he has not to look like a total fool in front of them.

After an easy, not very lucrative bounty, they stop planet-side, on a junkyard world called Skeet.  
The space-farers nickname it Shit Prime, and the way the place smells, it seems to live up to its moniker, but it also happens to be one of the best places to restock on a budget. All the junk and the dubious acquisitions this side of the Galaxy end up there, creating a thriving market for antiques, second-hand spaceship parts, loot, and other assorted junk.

Ronan is doing his usual reconnaissance run of the market. In the first ten minutes he has managed to spot two drug dealers, at least three peddlers of stolen wares and a prostitute. The standards of legality are even looser than on Knowhere, but he has to admit that the stuff on sale is very cheap and usually in working order if a bit worn. He has managed to tick all the items off his list and is making his way back to the Milano, when he spots something out of the corner of an eye and stops in his tracks to examine it more closely.

On display in one of the market stalls there is an array of small boxy items with two crenellated holes in the middle.  
He has seen those before. They are like Star-Lord's beloved mixtapes.  
"Where did you find these?" he asks the shopkeeper, a porcine-looking alien.  
The alien grunts. "Got the load off some Chitauri. - he replies - They grabbed it on Terra, during their botched invasion. Turns out it's old shit. I mean, it's even old shit on Terra, and that's saying something..." he adds with a grunting laugh.  
Ronan makes a noncommittal sound and nods, just to humour him.  
"How much is one of these?" he asks nonchalantly. The alien asks just a few credits. Ronan pays up and grabs one of the tapes. He thinks he has recognised the name of one of Star-Lord's favourite groups on the label.  
The shopkeeper grumbles something about "retro-tech nerds", but Ronan ignores it and runs back to the Milano.  
He can't wait to see Star-Lord's face when he sees that.

"The Jackson 5?!" Star-Lord exclaims when he finally sees it. His eyes are shining with wonder and he looks even more attractive than usual. Ronan is quietly proud of having caused him to become so.  
"My mum used to listen to this all the time! - Star-Lord continues - Where did you find it?" he asks.  
Ronan tells him.  
"The merchant has a lot more of these. Do you want me to show you where his stall is?" he asks. He cannot help but be excited by the idea of spending some time alone with Star-Lord, but manages to keep his tone casual.  
Star-Lord almost jumps with joy. "Of course, bluebell!" he exclaims, then grabs his hand and all but pulls him out of the Milano in his haste to get there.  
"Come on! Let's go before it closes for the night!" he adds.

The merchant is rather bemused by Star-Lord's enthusiasm for what he considers outdated junk, but at least he is honest enough not to try and raise the prices faced with such an obvious, overt interest in his wares.  
They spend quite a lot of time at the stall, as Star-Lord picks which cassettes he wants. Some are from artists he knows, some he picks just for the pictures on the boxes. If they aren't any good, they can always space them, he says.

They end up with so many that they have to use a satchel to hold them.  
In the meantime, Star-Lord explains to Ronan some bits and pieces he knows about Terran music and his mother's favourite bands. He used to listen to her music all the time when he was a child.

"She couldn't live without some sort of soundtrack to her daily life." he says fondly.  
"Like someone I know..." Ronan comments cheerfully.  
Star-Lord smiles. "Music saved my life, actually." he points out, elbowing him lightly.  
Ronan rolls his eyes and sighs. "Never underestimate the power of out-of-context dancing..." he drawls.  
Star-Lord starts laughing, and he feels so happy that he could fly.  
They are out together, talking and laughing, as if it was a date. It is heavenly.

"Ha! This one looks like it was made for you!" Star-Lord exclaims suddenly, grabbing one of the tapes.  
On the box there is a picture of four white-faced men with their faces painted with black warpaint. They look quite intimidating.  
"Look! The guy on this one has even the same trousers as you!" Star-Lord continues, handing him another box. The man on the cover is smashing a musical instrument against the floor in a fit of rage. His trousers are red and black in a chequered pattern, and in fact look like his own objectionable Xandarian trousers.  
Ronan smiles at Star-Lord and hands the box back. "You have funny customs on Terra." he says.

"I'll buy these ones too." Star-Lord tells the shopkeeper, who, as usual grunts and grabs the money.  
"Here! - the Terran says, pressing the two boxes into Ronan's hands - It's a present." he adds. His cheek colour slightly darker pink-tan than the rest of him.  
Ronan's heart almost misses a beat.  
"I cannot accept it. - he says stiffly, almost in a knee-jerk reaction - Technically, I am not allowed to own anything." he adds, hiding his embarrassment behind the legalities of his station.  
"Alright. - Star-Lord says, quirking an eyebrow - Then these are mine, but I am ordering you to listen to them. You need to broaden your knowledge of Terran music." he adds, trying to sound high-handed but ruining it by smiling widely.  
"Do you know them?" Ronan asks, smelling a rat.  
"Nope. Never heard them before." Star-Lord declares candidly.  
Ronan gives him a bemused stare.  
"I guess we'll have to listen to them together." the Terran says, and Ronan tries his hardest not to look like he is glad of the proposal. He has the impression that Star-Lord notices anyway.

They are already on their way towards the Milano with Star-Lord's stash of cassettes, when the Terran suddenly stops in his tracks with a pained grimace. His hands run to his temples, pressing against the bone as if to keep his head together, and he crumples to his knees with a sharp cry.  
Ronan, who was walking a few steps behind, rushes to his side immediately and kneels next to him, trying to support him.  
"Star-Lord! What has happened? - he asks, casting quick glances around to check for enemies - Are you hurt?" he adds.  
Star-Lord raises his gaze at him, it is blurry with tears of pain and almost vacant.  
"Make it stop... please..." he whispers, grabbing his jacket, then curls up further in pain. At the edges of his perception, Ronan can almost hear a thin, very high-pitched sound. It sounds like some sort of radio interference.  
"Is this what is hurting Star-Lord?" he asks himself, standing up again to try and identify the source of the transmission.  
Some sort of kinetic weapon hits him in the chest with enough force to send him flying into the nearest rubbish dump.

When he emerges from the junk, furious with himself for not having figured out it was an ambush, some humanoid figures are closing down on Star-Lord. They are armed, and he is still writhing in pain on the ground.  
Ronan doesn't even think twice.  
A section of metal pole with a metal sign attached to it emerges from the junk. He grabs it and launches himself at their foes, his mind flooded by battle fury.  
They must have expected him to stay down, and their surprise is almost comical when he caves in the skull of one of them with his improvised weapon.  
It is not the Universal Weapon, but it would do to dish up some retribution.

* * *

A.N. Kudos to you if you have recognised the tapes I've mentioned.


	12. Chapter 12

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: more violence, some sexyness if you squint.

Enjoy!

* * *

The pain in his head is so intense and the noise so disorienting that he must have blacked out for a few seconds, or more, after trying to talk to Ronan.  
When he comes to, there are several gun-toting strangers closing on him and the Kree is nowhere in sight.  
"It was a trap..." Peter thinks sluggishly.  
He tries to stand up and fight, but one of the strangers presses a button on some kind of contraption and the infernal noise retakes his place in his head. He screams and probably blacks out again, and when he opens his eyes once more, Ronan is charging against the strangers, armed with what looks like a Terran street sign. Peter is so confused that it seems to make sense.

The head of one of the strangers is smashed in at the first blow. Whoever thought that blunt weapons don't shed blood has not seen anyone fight well with one.  
Ronan fights like he has never done anything else in his life, which is actually true. After months and months of shy, caring and submissive Ronan, he has almost forgotten how implacable and terrifying he can be.  
The strangers are good, they even manage to hit him once or twice, but ultimately they end up broken and bleeding on the floor and Ronan stands among their bodies, all spattered in blood, his cheeks flushed a dark blue with exertion and excitement, and a satisfied grin on his face. He looks magnificent, Peter thinks. If his head didn't hurt so much, he'd totally have a happy at the sight, however creepy it might sound.

Ronan drops the sign and runs back towards him.  
"Can you stand?" he asks, kneeling at his side.  
Peter thinks about it for a minute or so. Can he?  
"Not sure..." he mumbles. Even if the worst of the pain is gone, his head is still all wonky. Even if he manages to stand, he won't be able to walk straight.  
"I'll carry you then. We have to move. There might be more of those mercenaries in the vicinity." he declares, and makes to lift him up in a fireman's carry.  
Peter resists, wriggling in his grasp.  
"No fireman. - he protests - I'll puke down your back. Seriously." he rasps. Just thinking about puking has made him nauseous.  
Ronan nods and manages to help him onto his back.  
"Hold on tight." he instructs, rising to his feet as he grabs the satchel with the tapes. The Kree starts running at a reasonably fast clip, as if Peter didn't weigh much more than a child.  
Peter cannot help but feel safe like that, like when Yondu carried him more or less in the same way when he was a kid. Only, Ronan smells nicer, like soap and clean skin, and is considerably handsomer.  
Peter sighs and lets himself drift off at least a bit. He knows that no harm will come to him.

When he arrives at the Milano, running with Star-Lord on his back, the rest of the Guardians are having some sort of snack at the table.  
"What the hell has happened?! - Rocket exclaims as soon as he sees them - What did you do to him?!" he accuses.  
"We were attacked by mercenaries. - Ronan replies, slightly out of breath - They interfered with his implants. With radio frequencies." he explains.  
Rocket curses.  
"Let's get him somewhere comfortable!" Gamora orders. They carry Star-Lord to his bed in the tiny room he shares with Gamora. He rouses to consciousness when they call him and finally Ronan manages to relax from his state of near-panic. Seeing him in so lost and in pain was one of the worst experiences since he started living with the Guardians.

Even if he is awake, Star-Lord is quite confused and weak, so Rocket turns to him for information.  
"What happened? What were the symptoms?" he asks.  
"And since when you are the medic?" Ronan retorts, still upset enough to be confrontational. He doesn't think he will be able to fully relax until Star-Lord is back on his feet.  
"Since I patch myself up all the time. - the sentient raccoon declares - Now spit out, buddy!" he orders.  
"Headache, confusion, nosebleeds. - Ronan lists - He passed out at least once."  
"Did you see what they were using as a source?" Rocket asks, wringing his hands a bit.  
Ronan shakes his head. "It was handheld. I didn't pause to investigate further."  
"So the bad guys could still be using it?" Rocket points out.  
"Not those people. Not that machine." he replies firmly. He has smashed it to pieces alongside its wielder.  
He has killed those mercenaries in anger rather than in justice, but he cannot find any guilt in himself for it. Defending Star-Lord was paramount.

Rocket seems pleased by his reply and sets out to examine Star-Lord.  
"Rocket... Ronan has been shot. - the Terran mutters, trying to sit up in bed - You need to..."  
"I'll take care of this. - Gamora says, shushing him gently - You need to rest." This seems to calm him at least a bit.  
"Alright. Groot, stay here with Peter. - Gamora orders next - Drax, Ronan, with me. We need to get out of this place and back to Knowhere. I want Peter seen by a real doctor. No offense meant, Rocket." she adds later.  
"None taken." Rocket replies.  
Ronan doesn't really want to leave Star-Lord's bedside, but he cannot ignore a direct order, so he goes with them.

Gamora gets the Milano in the air, and on course for Knowhere. As soon as they are suitably far from Shit Prime, she turns to Ronan and asks for a retelling of the events. Ronan complies as accurately as he can.  
"So you killed them all with a piece of refuse..." she comments with a hint of admiration.  
Ronan nods. "I couldn't allow them to live and call reinforcements." he explains.  
"Are you sure they were after Peter and not you?" she asks.  
Ronan nods again. "They tried to take me out first, so they could take their time with Star-Lord. - he replies - I think they were trying to capture him." he adds.  
"And you said they were mercenaries?" she continues.  
"I recognised their crest. - he confirms - I had a few run-ins with them early in my career." he adds.  
"Smashed a few heads, eh?" Drax comments.  
"A few more today." Ronan confirms smugly.  
Fighting them, even while panicking about Star-Lord's safety, was extremely satisfying. He is pleased that his ability as a warrior is still almost intact.

"Peter said they shot you down." Gamora comments.  
"It was nothing." he minimises. His chest aches a bit, but it is nothing worrying.  
The assassin rolls her eyes. "Says the man who didn't realise he had an internal bleeding..." she taunts. He should have imagined that they would never let him live that down.  
"Drax, get the controls. - she instructs - You, come with me. I'll have a look at those injuries." she adds.  
Ronan would like to protest, but it is another direct order, so he swallows his retort, hangs his head and follows her to his cell.

She sits on the padded floor and opens the first-aid kit, looking a bit overwhelmed by the situation. He kneels in front of her. She is as scared by Star-Lord's predicament as he is and that she needs comfort as much as he does. He doesn't know how to give it to her, so he waits quietly for her orders.  
"Where did they shoot you?" she asks gently. Ronan gestures vaguely towards his chest.  
"Ouch! - she comments - Take your top off."  
Ronan feels his cheeks instantly burn up in embarrassment. "You... this is not necessary... I am..." he stammers.  
"Take. Your. Top. Off." Gamora repeats more forcefully.  
He obeys, instantly silenced. His jacket hits the floor, then his hoodie and undershirt, until he is bare from the waist up. He can feel her eyes on him, and for some reason this makes his manly parts start to rise to attention.

"It is nothing, eh?" Gamora comments sternly, placing a hand over his sternum. It is warm and her touch is soft.  
Something so mundane shouldn't feel so good. Something so innocent shouldn't excite him like that.  
It takes him a moment to realise that he has a very ugly bruise on his chest and likely a few others on his arms and back from tumbling into a refuse heap. He even has a couple of defensive cuts on his forearms. Now that he can see them, they sting, but he had not realised their existence until then.

"I will survive. I have had worse." he declares, rearranging himself so that his inconvenient lust is concealed.  
"I know." Gamora says, a sad look on her face. Her fingers slide down his chest, ghosting over the faint, lighter blue line of the scar on his stomach. He nearly shudders in pleasure. He feels unusually warm and light-headed and has to fight hard to hide his reactions.

Gamora takes a pot of bruise salve and starts applying it gently over his injuries, spreading it with her fingers. Having to remain impassive despite how good it feels to have her warm hands on him is almost torture. The evident care in her gestures and etched on her face is driving him even closer to the edge. It makes the temptation of surrendering, of submitting all the sweeter.  
Her scent is all round him and her hair brushes his skin when she reaches for a bruise on his back. He doesn't think he can resist long without giving himself away. His hands itch to touch her. He sits on them.

When she finishes treating his wounds he is one step away from begging her to do whatever she wants with him and thus shaming himself for a whore.  
Once her hands leave his skin he can finally breathe and think normally. He immediately feels colder from the lack of her touch.  
"Better now?" Gamora asks.  
It takes Ronan a few tries to find his voice. "Better..." he confirms.  
Gamora watches him in silence for a moment, a strange expression painted on her face.  
"I know that you're going to say that it was your duty to save Peter... - she says suddenly - but I want to thank you nonetheless." she continues. Her warm hand presses gently against his face. Their eyes meet.  
"Thank you for bringing him safely home." she whispers.  
Her lips touch his cheek in a chaste kiss, but he feels as if an electric shock has gone through him.  
He would do anything to have her kiss him like that again.


	13. Chapter 13

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: some angst, some wrangling of cultural practices.

Enjoy!

* * *

They arrive on Knowhere the following day. Star-Lord is already much restored, but all of them agree on not letting him out of bed until the doctor checks on him, much to his disappointment.  
Rocket's friend is a rather shady character with awful bedside manner, but the raccoon trusts him and that suffices. He runs some tests and scans on Star-Lord and finally proclaims him out of the woods, albeit in need of bed rest for a few days for a complete recovery. Apparently there was no lasting damage, but the vulnerability of the implants still needs to be addressed. Rocket launches himself on the task with great enthusiasm.

Star-Lord, Drax and Gamora, instead, closet themselves in Star-Lord's room for a while, then Drax goes downtown without saying a word to anyone, and a few hours later Gamora joins him.  
No one talks to him in the meantime, so Ronan dedicates himself to his chores. The nagging feeling that he might have done something wrong and deserving a punishment doesn't leave him though, and when Star-Lord calls him to his room after Drax's return, he is fully expecting a dressing-down.

Star-Lord is sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking worn but reasonably healthy. Gamora is sitting next to him. Both are smiling and this reassures him.  
He still gives a quick glance to Drax, who is standing near the door, smiling too. The angrier he is, the greyer his skin becomes, but now he is almost fully green. The Destroyer couldn't dissimulate even if he wanted to. The coast is clear, he doesn't need to worry.

Star-Lord beckons him closer to the bed, then asks him to sit down on it.  
Ronan is getting confused, but complies. He doesn't quite understand what is going on.  
"Easy, bluebell... - Star-Lord says, catching on his unease - There is nothing for you to worry about. We just... It just occurred to me that I have never properly thanked you for saving me from those mercs." he explains.  
"You don't have to thank me, I was just doing my duty as your _haaq_." Ronan replies once more.  
"I don't have to, but I will anyway." Star-Lord declares. He nods towards Drax, who steps aside and reveals a long, strangely shaped parcel, bundled with cloth, which is propped against the counter. The Destroyer shifts his gaze over to Star-Lord, who in turn beckons towards Ronan.  
"This is for you. - he says, pointing at the parcel - Open it."  
Ronan gives him a quick glance for confirmation, and when the Terran nods, he unties the cloth from around the content with hands that tremble slightly with emotion.

Within the cloth lies a long-hafted, double-bladed axe. The metal of the blade is burnished black-blue like blood and strange reddish glyphs curl on the flat on both sides. Even if it is clearly an antique, the edge is keen, patterned in waves.  
It is beautiful.

Ronan looks at his masters with awe, unable to speak a word.  
Star-Lord seems to find it cute.  
"We know you like your weapons with some impact, but no one here knows about maces and we didn't want to get you something shitty that would break at the first blow." the Terran is saying with a warm smile.  
"That axe seemed very appropriate to you. I hope you like it." Drax chimes in, going a bit brown. He must have chosen it personally.  
"It is a _labyrs_. These things used to be the weapons of the champions of my people. - Gamora reveals, and judging from their expressions Star-Lord and Drax didn't know about that either - The writings say 'My name is Keenblade. My edge will never dull as long as I am used in justice.'" she adds with a sad smile, giving the axe a fond look.  
"I have no idea of how it got there, but it was collecting dust on the shelf of a pawn shop, when Drax found it. - she continues - It seemed fitting that you should have it." she concludes, shifting her gaze towards the Kree. An unshed tear shines in her eyes.  
It must have been her father's, Ronan thinks, and though he cannot possibly be worthy of wielding such a weapon, he is uplifted by the idea that she should consider bestowing a heirloom of her family to him. It means much to him.

"I... It is magnificent. - Ronan manages to say, holding back what threaten to be tears of joy - But I cannot possibly..."  
"Don't even try. - Gamora interrupts him - We know for certain that you can. We did our research about _haaq_ this time." she announces.  
Ronan feels a shiver of dread, or maybe of anticipation, course through him at those words. Do they know _everything_ about _haaq_ now?  
"It is not just because of that... - he manages to protest - This... this is too much for me."  
"Nonsense. - Drax cut his protestations short - We destroyed your ancestral weapon, it seems right that we should provide you with a weapon befitting your battle prowess." he adds

"So far we have been treating you as our housekeeper, but you are a warrior... - Star-Lord chimes in - And it doesn't seem fair to... to prevent you from being what you are."  
"What Peter is trying to say is that we would like you to serve us in a more offensive capacity. - Gamora interjects - Unless now you object to violence..." she adds, giving him a significant look.  
Ronan nearly laughs at her statement. He objects to wanton destruction and slaughtering innocents, but he likes a fight just fine.

"Are you asking me to serve as your retainer?" he asks, subconsciously tracing the glyphs on the blade.  
It positively thrums under his fingers, a bit like the Universal Weapon used to do. At first it feels inquisitive, like the _labyrs_ is assessing him, then it settles into a low, satisfied purr of acceptance. Like the Guardians, the weapon is convinced of the match.

Giving a weapon, especially one so clearly powerful, to one's _haaq_ is the ultimate sign of trust from a _haaq_-master. It means that they are sure of their loyalty and consider them almost a full member of the household. It is a great honour, and he is not sure he has done much to deserve it.  
"Yes, we are." Gamora confirms.  
"And what about the Nova? They won't like this." he still objects because it is the right thing to do even if he wants to be their retainer, he wants it with all of himself.  
"The Nova can stuff their displeasure where the sun doesn't shine." Peter replies assuredly.  
"Will you fight for us, Ronan of House Danu? Will you stand at our side in the battlefield?" Gamora asks and, Pama have mercy, she even knows the traditional words...

Ronan slides to his knees to the side of the bed , holding the axe flat on his hands, extended in front of him.  
"I will. - he replies decisively - I will defend you and your household with my own life. I will never forsake you. This I pledge on my honour and my hope for an afterlife." he declares solemnly.  
Star-Lord pushes the axe back towards him, and they both bow. The Guardians actually did their research in detail and seem to know exactly what they are doing. It is nice and strange to think that they have gone such great lengths for him.  
"Then rise, Ronan of the Guardians, and take your place among us." Star-Lord declares, and damn, his heart aches with joy at his words, and his vision is blurry with tears as he rises to his feet.

Gamora rises too and hugs him close, then Drax joins in, nearly squeezing the breath out of them both.  
He doesn't know why and he feels like an idiot about it, but their touch is enough to shatter his control and make him start to cry.

As if on cue, Rocket and Groot come through the door.  
"What? - Rocket exclaims - Is he having one of those again?!"  
Ronan wants to point out that he only had "one of those" once, but realises that there is no need.  
"You can't do this, buddy! - the raccoon continues - I can't see my friends cry without crying too. And that makes me miserable!" he adds, starting to sniffle.  
Drax picks him up by the scruff of his neck and draws him into the collective hug. Groot launches himself at them and extends his branches, trying to hug them all at once.

They end up in a puppy pile on Star-Lord's bed, crying and laughing and teasing each other for it.  
Ronan realises that if someone told him that he could have his old life back in exchange for this one, he would say no.  
What are authority and prestige worth if you are alone?  
What's power for, when no one that cares about you, but only about your role? No amount of money or status can help if you have to suppress your feelings so hard that you are left empty.

The Guardians are so broke sometimes, that they have to ration the toilet paper, they get insulted by every thug in the Galaxy, and sometimes get thrown out of bars for past misdemeanors, but they have each other.  
They cry together and laugh together, and sometimes get angry at each other, and start throwing insults and plates at each other, but no one is made to feel ashamed for breaking down, because they all do, sometime or other, and they know that, when it happens, the others will help them piece themselves back together.  
They are amazing, and now they have officially accepted him as one of their own.

When he learned that he could never go back to the Empire, he was devastated by the news, but now he is happy about it.  
He wouldn't want to go back to that life.  
He doesn't want to leave the Guardians.  
He wants to stay like this forever.

* * *

A.N.  
A _labrys_ is a double-edged axe.  
It was a divine symbol in Minoan Crete, and it was the symbol of the Storm-God Tarhun/Teshub, protector of the creation and vanquisher of monsters, in Hatti and most of the Middle East during the bronze age.  
Coincidentally, it is also the divine attribute of the law-giving Orisha Xango, who is also a Storm-God.

More info at these links:

wiki/Labrys  
wiki/Ox%C3%AA (This one is in portuguese. Apologies, but the link between Xango and the labrys-like axe is omitted in the english version)


	14. Chapter 14

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: some language and general seditiousness. Plus some eye candy.

Enjoy!

* * *

Obviously, when she gets the news that they have allowed Ronan to carry a weapon, Nova Prime is not particularly impressed. Actually, she comes very close to flipping the lid.

"Are you totally insane?!" she shouts through the comm.  
"It's not dangerous in any way, I promise you. - Peter tries to calm her, pinching the bridge of his nose - He is not going to harm us, and if he had really wanted to, he would have managed even without a weapon." he points out.  
"And what about the rest of the Galaxy? - she asks - Are they safe too?"  
Peter shrugs. "Unless they try to fuck with us, yes. - he replies - I have told you, madam, he is not the person he was during the whole blowing-up-Xandar incident, he has changed." he insists.  
"I don't care. You were supposed to restrain him, not reform him. - she argues - You were supposed to keep him out of the public eye, not appear with him as a member of your team on the HoloNet!" she wails.

When she starts ranting about how their mission on on Gramosia was too high-profile and so on, Peter just switches off. To be cooped up in the cockpit, arguing with her is the last thing he wants.  
After Gramosia, they have landed in a nice little tropical beach on a mostly uninhabited planet, and currently the rest of the team is outside, enjoying the sun. From where he is sitting he can see them through the windshield.  
Rocket and Groot are making sand constructions, while Gamora, Drax and Ronan are sparring together.  
The weather is so warm that even normally prim Ronan has been forced to do without several articles of clothing, and Peter is currently enjoying a nice and unimpeded view of the shirtless Kree. He could watch him for hours, especially when he trains or fights, like on Gramosia, where he put Keenblade to good use mowing down scores of raiders.  
Peter remembers seeing him grin as fought, already so in tune with his new weapon that it seemed like it had always been his.  
Gamora, who was also eating him up with her eyes back then, agrees with him: smoking hot doesn't quite cover it.

As if summoned by his reminiscences, Gamora tackles Ronan and both end up on the floor, fighting for dominance.  
Peter's mind jumps straight into the gutter, supplying him with several different erotic fantasies involving his two favourite aliens entangled in bed. He is quite sure that Gamora is enjoying herself, even if she seems to have lost her advantage and is now being pressed to the ground.  
If they could have it their way, Ronan would have been sharing their bed for a while already.

When they were looking up _haaq_-taking practices for giving Ronan his axe, they had found out that the services required from a _haaq_ often included sleeping with their masters, and they are reasonably sure that if they ordered him, Ronan would comply, but however lustful for him, they would never do something like that.

It would be wrong on so many levels that it gives him a headache just to think about it, so they just keep on dropping him hints, in the hope that he realises that they liked him _that_ way, but the poor man seems so shy and confused about his feelings, that so far they haven't had any success.  
Maybe they should just take a leaf out of Drax's book and be blunt about it, telling him straight away that they want to screw him seven ways to Sunday, if that's fine with him.  
"Maybe we should..." he thinks, watching Ronan pick himself up from the ground all sweaty and plastered with golden sand. What wouldn't he give to drag him in the shower?

"The public needs to be reminded that thr Kree is a criminal, a monster, responsible for the unprovoked, unjustified murders of several Xandarian officers..." Nova Prime continues in the background.  
Something switches on in Peter's mind at her words.  
"Unprovoked?!" he thinks.  
"He told us." he says, cutting her off.  
"I beg your pardon?" Nova Prime says, feigning incomprehension.  
Peter sighs. "He told us about the bombings during the war, when you targeted civilian buildings." he clarifies.  
"Well, he was obviously manipulating the truth. - Nova Prime retorts, without missing a beat - We only bombed military targets. And then, accidents happen, my boy, especially if people chose to use children as sentient shields."  
"The Kree would disagree, I think. - Peter retorts - I have been listening to their CommRadio transmissions, madam."  
"Oh, have you? - she comments sourly - And you believed their propaganda unquestioningly, I suppose..."  
"I did my fact-checking alright. The Ravagers... they know people, even some of your lot. - Peter declares - My father told me some of your people were bragging about killing the little blue bastards before they grew up. At least some of the Nova knew exactly what they were doing." he jabs, and the video shows a grimace blooming on Nova Prime's face.

"That pirate is not your father." she comments.  
"He is my father in the only way that matters. He raised me, and I trust him, more or less. And then I checked again, on the service rolls of the Nova Corps. Many people owe me favours, and we are heroes on Xandar... - he continues - Did you realise that Ronan killed only pilots that were involved in the bombings? My gut feeling tells me that he did it on purpose." he adds.  
The grimace on Nova Prime's face deepens. Good, Peter thinks.  
"So, technically, for the Kree those people were war criminals. - he argues - And, technically, Ronan was still part of the Kree law enforcement, so, technically speaking of course, he was operating within the law when he spattered those men's brains all over the Dark Aster. Those were lawful executions, not assassinations."  
"It was a barbarous act." Nova Prime insists.  
Peter shrugs. "If you shoot someone in the head, you get the same result. That was just more theatrical." he argues from experience. He has done that sort of thing before, when the situation required it.

"What is your point, Star-Lord?" Nova Prime asks wearily. He hasn't got her 100% cornered, but she is feeling the pressure.  
"My point is that I didn't understand why you are still so desperate to cover this up." he replies.  
Nova Prime's eyes go a little bit wide. He has her.  
"It was before your term of service as Nova Prime, so I didn't get why you didn't denounce that as a fault of the previous holder of your office and cleaned the slate. - he continues - But then I checked those rolls of service again. The guy who gave the order, he was your first husband, and one of the pilots was his son from his first wife. You don't want to be found guilty by association, isn't it?" he asks as suavely as he can.  
This time she cannot keep her calm façade up. Outrage and worry show clearly on her face.  
"I am not doing this for my own personal benefit. - she declares - Do you have any idea of what the consequences would be if such slander reached the public?" she hisses then.  
Peter shrugs again. "I don't know. - he admits candidly - Maybe you folks would stop seeing yourself as the victims and the good guys and take responsability for what you did in the war?" he offers.  
"Maybe the Xandarian citizens won't be so hasty in believing all of what you top brass say? - he adds, twisting the knife - Doesn't seem so bad to me." he concludes. He knows he is not a hero or even a 100% good guy, but he has the honesty to admit it. He doesn't pretend to be what he is not, and neither do his fellow Guardians.

"What do you want, you little piratical scoundrel?" she spits.  
"I want you to leave Ronan the hell alone. - Peter declares firmly - He has done horrible things, but at least he has the decency to feel guilty about them, and to accept his punishment for them."  
While you are still trying to deny that you have bombed a temple full of children, and schools, and hospitals, he thinks.  
"We'll make sure that he doesn't relapse, but you Nova need to stop trying to screw him over. - Peter adds - He is our responsibility, and we'll take care of him, even if it takes going against you." he declares.  
"Would you really go against the Nova Empire for the likes of him?" Nova Prime asks, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief.  
Peter sighs. "Which part of 'he is one of us now' is unclear to you, madam?" he asks.

Nova Prime gives him a long, hard, unblinking stare, which he returns unflinchingly.  
"If I find you anywhere near Nova space, I'll have my people shoot you down. - she announces - I won't have your bleeding hearts threaten the stability and public order of Xandar."  
Peter shrugs. "You can keep it. The Universe is big, and Xandar was always a bit overrated as a holiday destination. - he replies with a big grin - Farewell and adieu, madam." he salutes.

The conversation is abruptly cut and Peter sighs in relief.  
The deed is done. It needed to be done.  
He is disappointed, but not surprised that the Xandarian government has proven to be as hypocritical and pig-headed as Yondu had told him it would be. He suspects most governments are, and he supposes it is fair enough.  
What's not fair is tormenting people to keep up a lie. They can't let them do that, they all agreed about it.  
The Xandarians offloaded Ronan to them, because they didn't want to deal with the hassle of keeping him. They told them to take care of him and they did.  
He was broken when he arrived, but he has managed to rebuild himself from the foundations up, challenging what he was, opening himself up to change.  
He is no longer the person Thanos or his grandfather wanted him to be. He is brave, and kind, and sometimes still so lost...

Peter finds himself reminescing of how Ronan has tried to teach him, Drax and Gamora about something called _sia_, some kind of meditation trick that allows people to see blows coming before they do, and how happy and proud he was when Drax finally managed to hit him, even if it gave him a black eye, of the wonder in his eyes at seeing new planets and trying new things, and of how weirded out he looked when he caught himself humming one of Peter's Terran songs...  
Peter knows that during the course of the year or so Ronan has spent with them, he has fallen in love with him. They all have, one way or another, some romantically, some more like family.  
He is part of their life now, and no one can try to harm him without having to deal with them.

Peter sighs and stretches. He has spent far too much time brooding in there, he decides. He quickly rummages in one of the storage compartments in the cockpit and quickly finds his freesbee.  
When he was a kid on Terra, it was hugely popular, but most of the people he has met in space so far don't seem to know it. This is the perfect time to introduce the Guardians to it.  
He jumps off the gangway into the sand and lets fly, shouting "Incoming!".  
Gamora turns and catches without effort, but with a puzzled expression.  
"What is that?" she asks, turning the plastic disc in her hands.  
"It's a freesbee. - he replies - A Terran toy. It's pefect for the beach." he adds.  
The disc is passed on to Drax and then to Ronan, who examine it in turn.

Rocket and Groot abandon their construction project and come closer.  
"What does it do?" Rocket asks.  
"It flies. - Peter replies - You throw it at someone, and they catch it. It's easy. Want to try?" he asks.  
Rocket nods. Groot jumps up and down in enthusiasm, snatches the disc from Ronan's hands and throws it at Drax, who catches easy.  
"It seems a bit too easy." the Destroyer comments.  
"Then we'll make it harder. - Peter proposes - Left hand only. And running. How does that sound?"  
"That's more like it!" Drax approves, starting to run and throwing the disc at Gamora.  
Soon the game degenerates ito trying to steal someone else's catch and trying improbable trick shots. They roll into the sand and end up in the water, laughing and cursing each other.  
They are his family, Peter thinks, nothing is more important to him.

* * *

A.N.  
I don't have any bone to pick with the character of Irani Rael, I have a general bone to pick with governments that won't admit past wrongdoings on the basis that they were doing the wrong thing (i.e. restricting/violating human rights, or in this case sentient rights) for the right reasons. There is no right reason for some things. There isn't.  
I kind of like Irani Rael, actually.


	15. Chapter 15

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: some language, mentions of Sane, Safe and Consensual (SSC) BDSM, and, quite obviously, Ronan's confused boner.

Sorry about the delay in posting, I was abroad with little internet access.

Enjoy!

* * *

The mercenaries who have tried to capture Star-Lord on Shit Prime attack again, a couple of times in the following months. They think they have a tactical advantage over them thanks to their interference generator. They are wrong.  
Rocket has managed to re-tune Star-Lord's implants and shield them. He is no longer in any pain when subjected to the machine, but the mercs don't know it and that affords them the occasion to ambush them and capture a couple of them.  
Gamora proves to be the most convincing of the team and, left to her care, the mercenaries reveal the identity of the person who commissioned the hit.  
It is a certain K'se We'al, a businessman they say.  
Ronan has never heard of him before, but Star-Lord seems to recall the name. A quick comm to Yondu solves the conundrum.

"You are looking for We'al? - the centaurian asks - What has the perplexing bastard gotten himself into, this time?" he asks.  
Ronan has the impression that he is saying far less than he knows.  
"He paid for a hit on me." Star-Lord reveals, and immediately Yondu's expression darkens.  
"What?! Are you sure?! That is not We'al's usual gig, he is a professional thief and fence. He doesn't do hits! And he wouldn't do that, I mean, you're my kid!" he objects. Ronan has the impression that Yondu's relationship with their quarry wasn't a strictly professional one. Star-Lord does not look entirely pleased.

"Well, Da, sorry to break your heart, but he did. The intel is pretty solid. - Star-Lord confirms - So pretty please, we need to know where to find him." he adds with his most endearing expression.  
Yondu still hesitates. That We'al must have been a very good lay.

"We're not gonna hurt him, much. - Star-Lord promises, trying to assuage him - He's a middleman, right? We just want to know who is he working for." he adds.  
The Ravager Captain sighs and rolls his eyes.  
"I don't know where he bunks anymore, these days, but he has opened an artsy club, the Silk Den. It's on K'soth, in the Spartax quadrant." he reveals.  
"Ha! Thanks, Da! You are awesome!" Star-Lord exclaims.  
Yondu ends up smiling in spite of himself. "Take care, kid. Things might not be as they seem. We'al is... peculiar, but he was never a bad person. It might be a misunderstanding. - he says, but he doesn't sound so convinced anymore - Try to talk to him before your buddies break him. Please. Do it for me." he adds, making almost puppy eyes.  
"Is he so important to you?" Star-Lord asks, tilting his head in confusion.  
Yondu sighs and rubs his crest implant wearily. "He helped me in a difficult moment. I owe him much." he confesses.  
"I can't promise anything, Da. If he comes after me I'll stop him, whatever it takes, but if he doesn't... I'll be cautious." Star-Lord declares.  
"Can't ask for more. - Yondu acquiesces - Good hunting, kid." he adds wistfully, switching off the call.  
"Thanks, Da..." Star-Lord adds in a whisper. If he had not been so close to almost touch him, Ronan would have missed it.

As soon as the call is closed, they set their course for K'soth, and soon find the place indicated by Yondu. Things start getting complicated, then.  
"It's a dungeon." Star-Lord reveals after a round of scouting.  
"Meaning?" Drax asks. From the expression on Gamora's face ot doesn't bode well.  
"It's a club for practitioners of BDSM." she explains.  
"Pama help us!" Ronan thinks. He knows what that means, he has heard about it before in Hala. Back then it was one of those baffling barbarian practices which were frowned upon by everyone, now it is something very real and close.  
Rocket groans too. Only Groot seems to be still oblivious. It is better that way, he is still in his early adolescence. That is not something he should know about until he reaches the age of consent, whatever it might be for plant people.

"And we need to infiltrate it, because We'al is the owner of the place." Star-Lord adds.  
"I'll go with you." Gamora offers straight away.  
"You can't. - Star-Lord replies grimly - It's for gay men only." he reveals.  
Rocket erupts into a hysterical giggle, Drax goes deep brown in a second.

"No. Just no. Don't even think about asking me." Rocket declares. His fur is standing on end.  
"I wasn't going to. - Star-Lord reassures him - And not even you, Drax. This requires subtlety." he adds. The Destroyer almost deflates in obvious relief.  
Ronan feels his heart starting to beat harder and harder with anticipation. Or fear. Or excitement. Hard to tell.

"I am afraid it will have to be you, Ronan." Star-Lord says.  
Ronan somehow manages to remain almost impassive.  
"Of course. - he says - It is the most logical course of action. I even have the perfect disguise..." he adds, making the ring in his collar tinkle in an attempt to make light of the situation.  
"I wouldn't ask this of you in other circumstances..." Star-Lord adds, looking a bit desolate  
Ronan smiles at him and pats his shoulder in reassurance.  
"I know. - he says - I trust you." he adds and Star-Lord loses a bit of his lost look and smiles. Ronan would do just about anything to make him smile like that.  
"Let's get this done, then. - he says - What do we have to do?" he asks.

"Right..." Star Lord exhales nervously. They are hiding behind a street corner across the road from the Silk Den, dressed, or rather undressed, in his case, for their roles.  
Ronan is wearing his leather jacket with no shirt of jumper underneath, and, upon Star-Lord's insistence, his Xandarian trousers. A thin chain is attached to his collar. So far he is holding it himself, but soon he will have to give it to the Terran.  
Of the whole situation, that is the aspect that worries him the least. No matter how much their relationship might have deepened and evolved since its inception, he is still Star-Lord's _haaq_ and the Terran is still his master. He feels no shame in admitting it.

"So that's the plan. - Star-Lord continues - Step one: we try to blend in and look out for that We'al guy. Step two: we corner him. Step three: we make him tell us who is his boss. Step four: we bash his head in, and, step five, we run for it. Step four is optional." he adds sheepishly.  
Ronan nods. "It sounds like a good plan." he declares.

Star-Lord sighs again. Something bothers him.  
"Once we get in there you are my slave." he says.  
"In case you have forgotten, Star-Lord, I _am_ your slave." Ronan points out, rather piqued.  
"You're my retainer. It's different. - Star-Lord objects - What I mean is that they will expect me to... to do things to you..." he tries to explain. Ronan stays silent, waiting for him to continue.  
"I'll try to steer us away from... situations, that we have no interest in joining, but..." he hesitates still.  
"It might come to the point when I have to do _something_ to you or risk blowing our cover to hell, do you understand?" he finally blurts out, growing bright pink in the face.  
"I do. I know it is a possibility, but I trust you. I know you won't cause me undue harm." Ronan replies, feeling his own face heat up at the idea of Star-Lord doing _things_ to him. He nearly wishes that it would be the case.

"Is there anything you would absolutely avoid, if it comes to that?" Star-Lord asks with a sigh. He raises a hand to ruffle his hair and pauses mid-motion. He is impeccably groomed and dressed in his best leathers, all buttoned up with no extra skin on display, as befits a dom.  
"Anything you wouldn't be comfortable with?" he adds.  
"I'll take off my jacket, but no extra clothes. No nudity." Ronan replies. There is a part of him that wants to be naked in front of Star-Lord, but not even that bit of him wants an audience when it happens.  
"Fair enough. - Star-Lord agrees - I'll try to keep the humiliation and the sexual content to the min. That might mean pain, though." he warns.  
Ronan tries to stifle a chuckle. "I am no stranger to pain, I think I can handle it." he declares.  
Star-Lord huffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be a hero. You are allowed to bail out in these plays. - he explains - We need to agree on a safe word. When you say it, it's over. That's how it works."  
"You've done this before..." Ronan says.  
Star-Lord nods. "One of my partners was into it. She taught me the basics. - he narrates - Now for the safe word...?" he prompts.  
"Milano." Ronan replies straight away. That ship represents home and safety for him, now.  
Star-Lord catches his meaning and smiles softly.  
"Let's go then. The sooner we're in, the sooner we can get out." he declares.  
Ronan nods and offers the end of the chain to him with a curt bow.  
"Of course, my Lord..." he drawls, grinning and winking.  
Star-Lord chuckles and grabs the chain, then activates the holomorphic resonator Rocket has added to his implants. His face blurs for a moment, then returns sharp and defined.  
Ronan is now looking into the face of a stranger, a dark-haired, pale-skinned, blue-blooded Xandarian, his features fine and aristocratic, his expression schooled into a mask of composure and arrogance.  
It would fool any stranger but Ronan sees the smile at the corner of his mouth and the softness in his eyes.  
That is still _his_ Star-Lord, he has nothing to fear or worry from him, so when he starts walking to the front door of the club, leading him by the chain, he follows without protest, straight into the enemy's den.

* * *

And from next chapter... sexytimes! (took me long enough, didn't it?)


	16. Chapter 16

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains background Sane, Safe and Consensual (SSC) BDSM scenes, a M/M lime with bondage and blood-play, and, quite obviously, Ronan's confused (and then maybe not-so-confused-anymore-but-who-knows?) boner.

I would definitely say it is NSFW.

Enjoy!

* * *

One of the first things cadets of the Kree Academy are taught about infiltration is that getting out of an enemy structure is always far harder then getting in. Therefore, the instructors say, it is vital to observe and memorise all possible escape routes for eventual use.  
Observation is a second nature to Ronan. As they enter the lobby of the Silk Den and Star-Lord negotiates their entrance fees, he unobtrusively observes the room, noting the alcove of the cloakroom, a door behind the counter that must lead to some kind of office and the big, ornate double doors leading deeper into the club.

The decor is lavish but tasteful, done mainly in black and cream, with understated golden accents. The music is soft and soothing and the crested alien at the counter is wearing an elegant black-and-cream livery. The look and feel of the place communicates an aura of refinement and luxury. It is a sophisticated place, that much is sure.

Notices on brass panels alert that the Silk Den is an alcohol-free establishment and that drug use on the premises will not be tolerated, another stresses the importance of risk assessment and consent in all the activities performed in the club, and an even bigger one alerts that entrance is strictly forbidden to people younger than the age of consent of their respective species and culture.  
Ronan is heartened by the sight. It seems that the management is trying to operate within strict legal requirements. It is a comforting thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees some money change hands between Star-Lord and the concierge, then two doormen push open the big inner doors for them.  
"Come." Star-Lord orders, giving the chain a light tug. Ronan half-bows in acknowledgement and follows his suit. They are in, and it was far more easy than he would have thought.

The decor of the inner areas of the club is much like that of the lobby. Ronan barely notices it though, and the memorisation of escape routes is all but forgotten in a mere moment. His mind is boggled by the people who are in there and by the things they are doing.

The crowd of patrons is quite diverse for age and species. Skin of more then a dozen colours is exposed for all to see, and in far larger quantities than he has ever imagined.  
As under-dressed as he might feel, he is one of the least naked among the "slaves". Collars are _de rigeur_ it seems, proper clothes are not.  
As they walk towards the bar he sees several men in nothing more than underwear, at least one wearing leather trousers that leave his backside uncovered and a few wearing only padlocked chastity girdles or nothing at all.

A small crowd is lounging on an isle of plush, leather-upholstered sofas. They are watching a feather-crested alien tie up his partner, a yellow-skinned, long-limbed young man, using purple-tinted silken ropes. The youngster is likely uncomfortable, with his limbs stretched and tensed as they are, but he is smiling peacefully, and as they pass by, his "master" is asking him if he is alright. What could amount to torture in another context, here appears pleasant, almost artistic in a way.

Closer to the bar, another "master" is performing with two "slaves", dripping coloured wax on their skins as if to form a painting. They hiss in discomfort, but the expressions on their faces are ecstatic.  
Ronan does not know what to think.

"Let's have a drink. - Star-Lord proposes - The first one is included in the entrance fee."  
Ronan nods and they end up at the bar. As per house policy, they don't serve alcohol, but that doesn't prevent them from having a long and varied cocktail menu. Ronan ends up with a cup of something creamy and nutty with a distinct chilli afterburn. It is really good and he drinks it in tiny sips to make it last.

Star-Lord guides them towards an empty sofa and sits down. Ronan sits on the floor at his side, leaning his back against his legs.  
"What are you doing?" Star-Lord whispers in Kree. Ronan has been teaching him the language, as the same time as Star-Lord has been teaching him Terran. They are both rare languages throughout the Galaxy and they use them as a mode of stealth communication.  
"Keeping up the charade." Ronan replies. He is secretly glad of being able to speak in his native language.  
Star-Lord sighs and sips his cocktail.  
"What now?" Ronan asks.  
"I'm looking for the manager. He'll be able to point us towards We'al." Star-Lord replies.  
"I thought We'al was the manager." Ronan objects.  
"He is the owner. The manager is a guy called Mr O. - the Terran explains - Look out for someone who is especially chatty with wealthy patrons." he instructs.  
Ronan nods. "Will do."

Meanwhile, the bondage performance has finished and the stage has been taken by a couple of dark-skinned males one of which is flogging the other's back. Sounds of pain spill from the man's lips, but his partner doesn't stop. He won't until the sub says the safe-word. Ronan is in equal parts fascinated and horrified.

He tries to look out for the manager, but everywhere he looks, he sees things that distract him.  
Here two men are embracing and kissing tenderly, there a young man spanks his older partner with what looks like a paddle of some kind. Everywhere tenderness and violence, care and ownership are mixed in a way that makes the difference hard to spot and he is trying very hard not to feel aroused by it.  
He doesn't want Star-Lord to dominate him like that. Or does he? He cannot tell anymore.

A hand squeezes his shoulder. Ronan nearly startles.  
"I think I have found him. - Star-Lord announces - Wait here for me. I'll go and have a chat with him." he says, and as soon as the Kree acquiesces, he ties the chain to the armrest of the sofa and walks away.  
Now that he is not so overwhelmingly close, Ronan feels his tension ease a bit and can finally think past the turmoil of conflicting desires within him. He needs to calm down and concentrate if he doesn't want to jeopardise the mission. Closing his eyes, he tries to meditate away the urges of his body, but soon someone plonks himself on the floor next to him, breaking his concentration.  
It is the yellow-skinned youngster from the bondage performance and a big, impish grin is plastered on his youthful face.

"Hey, handsome. - the stranger says - Looks like your dom has left you alone. Don't worry, I'll keep you company." he offers.  
"Name's Lukan." he adds in an afterthought.  
"You're Xandarian." Ronan says without a hint of doubt.  
Lukan grins even more widely. "Got it in one! - he confirms - And you can only be a Kree. I thought you guys weren't into this sort of thing..." he comments slyly.  
Ronan shrugs. "It is an age of change. I am experimenting." he replies dispassionately.  
"With a Xandarian." Lukan notes.  
Ronan shrugs again. "The treaty says that they are our new best friends, doesn't it?" he comments with as much sarcasm as he can manage.  
Lukan laughs nervously. "Your government stuffed you well and good. - he says - Ours did too. You can't imagine how the taxes rose to finance the war in the last few years. And freedom of speech was basically scrapped!" he adds indignantly.  
Ronan looks at him with surprise. "I thought all Xandarians supported the war." he says.  
"Ha! The government wished they did! - Lukan replies - I was an anti-war activist, before I had to leave. They accused all my posse of intelligence with the enemy because we were looking into war crimes." he reveals.  
For a moment, Ronan is rendered totally speechless.  
"W-were you?" he manages.  
Lukan nods enthusiastically. "The government wanted us to believe that it was a war for freedom and for the defense of our civilisation, but we knew that it wasn't so. - he continues - I mean, you people might be a bunch of stuck-up prudes, no offense meant, but it was clear that the main reason for the war was the control of the asteroid mines in the XK-27 quadrant." he declares assuredly.

Ronan blinks a few times, feeling his world reassert itself once more. Xandarians opposing the war. That was... unexpected.  
"So they tried to silence you?" he asks.  
Lukan nods. "I left. I like bondage, but I knew I wouldn't fancy prison. - he replies - Wandered here and there, and finally ended up here. Now that the war between Spartax and Shi'ar is hopefully winding to a close, it's a nice place to be." he explains nonchalantly.  
Ronan files the information away for later and nods politely.  
"And what do you do normally?" he asks.  
"I am a performer. I do dance, theater, video-art. A bit of everything, really - Lukan replies proudly - Me and my partner, we have founded a performing arts company. We are still small, but we're growing steadily." he adds, jerking his head towards the feather-crested guy who was performing with him earlier.  
"Oh, and are you staging some show?" Ronan asks politely. Talking to this man is a lot less awkward than looking at people pleasuring each other with pain. He had never thought he could have a meaningful conversation with a Xandarian without wanting to kill them. He should have imagined that the citizens wouldn't necessary align with their government. They didn't in the Empire, even if the entire society was more disciplined and rigid.  
"We are auditioning for some of the roles. Interested?" Lukan asks, winking at him.  
"Oh, no. I have no artistic training whatsoever. I was a soldier." Ronan replies awkwardly, feeling himself blush.  
"Ah, I should have imagined. You have the _physique du rôle_. - Lukan comments - We could have used a handsome blue man in the company, though. The show is going to be based a lot on colour and movement." he explains.  
"What is it about?" Ronan asks, suddenly genuinely curious.  
"It's an allegory of the senselessness of war and the need for peace and brotherhood in the Galaxy. - Lukan explains - It's a topical issue around here. The Spartoi and the Shi'ar have been at war for years, but now they're treating, and rumor has it that they are going to solve everything with a royal marriage. Make love, not war. Isn't it cool?" he reveals.  
"Yes, it seems a desirable state of things." Ronan admits ruefully.  
"What's your name again?" Lukan asks.  
"I am Coehl." the Kree replies. He hopes his father is not going to be angry at him from the underworld for using his name in what amounts to a disreputable establishment.

"Well, Coehl, you and your partner are doing more or less the same, on a smaller scale. - the Xandarian offers - Many people in the club are raring to see you two perform, you know? They find the idea of a Xandarian and a Kree together very exciting..." he adds, laying a hand on Ronan's thigh.  
The Kree startles a bit and lowers his eyes in embarrassment. Someone shares their opinion, it seems.

"Aren't you supposed to be a sub too?" he asks pointedly.  
Lukan chuckles. "I am a switch, actually. With some people I sub, with some I dom. - he replies - Your dom seems to have little interest in you..." he adds suavely.  
"I could dom you, if you want... - he offers - I like you. I'd be gentle, promise. I'd make you feel good..." he whispers in his ear.  
Ronan feels like his face is bursting in flames. He backs away a bit, trying to put some space between him and Lukan. The performer is attractive, he cannot deny it, with his lithe, almost soft body, that smooth, bright yellow skin and that smile, and he is basically naked and very willing...  
But he is not Star-Lord, and that makes all the difference, he thinks, casting a quick glance at his master.

"Sorry, but I have to decline your offer, however enticing." he replies, trying to be gentle, because he doesn't dislike Lukan. It's just... he doesn't _want_ him, not like he wants Star-Lord.  
"It would make my professional life complicated if I didn't." he adds.  
"He's your boss?!" Lukan asks, a bit worried.  
Ronan gives Star-Lord another, longer glance. He is my everything, he thinks.  
"He is a businessman. I am his butler. - he replies, twisting the truth without outright lying - Our relationship only recently evolved to this kind of... practices." he adds.  
"You are in love with him." Lukan says without a hint of doubt.  
Ronan is rendered speechless again. "What...?! How...?!" he stammers.  
Lukan smiles once more, but this time it is all soft and gentle. "The way you look at him. - he explains - I'd die to have someone look at me that way. Does he know?" he asks.  
Ronan shakes his head, not even daring to talk.  
"Why?" Lukan asks gently.  
"I... it's complicated. - the Kree sighs - I..."  
"You don't know if it is mutual?" the Xandarian concludes for him.  
"Yes..." Ronan confirms, finally realising that the key issue is exactly _that_.

More than any cultural prohibition about mixed couples or master-_haaq_ relationships, more than the reproach reserved for men who still waste their time in dalliances with other men after graduating from the Academy, _that_ is the reason why he is still resisting his own inclinations and desires.  
He knows that Star-Lord and Gamora want him, but somehow this is no longer enough. Maybe it never was.  
Simple lust doesn't do it for him anymore, he needs them to love him back, because if he surrenders to them, it will be nothing less than complete surrender. He will give himself up to them heart, body and soul, and he needs to know that they will keep him, that they will truly care for him, for however long as it may last.  
He is no good at halfway solutions. That has not changed, and likely it never will.

"Then there is only one way to know. - Lukan declares, switching back to friendly and comforting - You'll have to ask him, mate. Or at least tell him about your feelings." he adds, patting his shoulder in a friendly gesture.  
"I'm not very good at that. - Ronan confesses - I find it very embarrassing."  
Lukan smiles. "Life starts at the end of the comfort zone, they say... - he provokes - Oh, there comes your partner..." he adds then, resuming his impish persona. Ronan tries to turn, but Lukan grabs his chin and holds him still.  
"He looks quite jealous... - he whispers placing his face close enough to Ronan's that it will probably look like if Lukan is kissing him - Good luck, handsome... and if it all goes to hell, remember me, alright?" he concludes, then in a fluid movement he is back on his feet and walking away, leaving a totally flabbergasted Kree behind.

"What the hell happened?" Star-Lord hisses, as soon as he is back. A scowl is painted on his face.  
Maybe Lukan was right. Maybe he is jealous. That is a good sign, right?  
Ronan is still confused by the turn of events and by his sudden epiphany. "That man... he was... he propositioned me..." he replies, part indignant and part surprised.  
Star-Lord shakes his head. "Cheeky bastard! - he exclaims - Well, you are attractive. I should have imagined it would happen..." he comments, sighing and flopping on the sofa.  
"So, I managed to speak with the manager. - he reprises after a brief pause - Apparently We'al has communicated with him and would like very much to see us... perform. Apparently he likes to watch." he reveals.  
"And that would grant us a _parlay_ with him?" Ronan asks, feigning disinterest. At the mere idea of Star-Lord actually doing _something_ to him, his manhood jumps to attention.  
"Yes, it would. - Star-Lord replies, also very neutral - But you don't have to do this. We can find another way of getting to him, maybe follow him after he leaves in the morning..." he adds, losing a lot of his composure.  
"This is the easiest way of getting what we want. - Ronan retorts - I have told you, I don't care about... doing this." he lies.  
He cares a lot. He wants it, at least this to know how it feels.

Star-Lord's eyes flash for a moment, then his expression returns smooth and pleasant.  
"Let's do this then." he adds, unwinding the chain from the armrest and standing up. Ronan follows him to the center of the room, pretending that he doesn't see the rest of the people in the club staring at them with eager anticipation.  
They reach an area where chains hang from the ceiling and are bolted on the floor. A small rack of diverse instruments is laid out on a table nearby. Ronan desperately tries not to look that way. He is not comfortable with the arousal he is deriving from the situation, but he cannot deny it. Given what sort of trousers he is wearing, probably all of the people in the room are aware of it as well...

"Take your jacket off." Star-Lord orders. His voice is sharp and steely and for some reason that gets to him like few things before.  
His cock twitches desperately in his trousers. The jacket hits the floor in record time.  
Star-Lord guides him to stand below the chains.  
"Raise your arms." he orders. He snaps the cuffs attached to them around his wrists, then kneels to fasten the chains bolted on the floor to his ankles. He is spread-eagled and nearly unable to move, but more than the chains, it is Star-Lord's gaze that pins him inexhorably. Scalding hot and possessive... nothing much has happened, and he is already trembling just because of it.

"Let's give them a show... - he says heatedly - But remember that you can stop it whenever you want. You just need to say the word." he adds, more gently as he disappears behind him.  
Ronan nods and closes his eyes, breathing deeply as he tries to steel himself for the first blow.  
This is the position in which prisoners used to be flogged, back in the day, and there is a flog handy, on that little table. It all makes sense.  
A blindfold covers his eyes, prolonging his wait.  
He doesn't mind too much. It's not as if he really likes Star-Lord's Xandarian disguise.  
It is the face of a stranger to him, and he'd much prefer looking at the Terran's true countenance, at the visage he has learned to love, but he knows he cannot.  
At least his voice and his scent are unchanged. It is enough for him to feel a little bit like he is in heaven anyway.

He is expecting pain, so when he feels the soft, warm touch of Star-Lord's hands on his back, he nearly cries out in pleasure and surprise.  
He catches himself at the last moment and clenches his teeth to prevent himself from making a sound. He can't give in so soon.

Those warm, clever hands roam all over his back, a bare brush of fingers down his spine, then a palm pressed against his lower back, kneading, teasing and then feather-light again, so that he won't know what to expect next.  
Ronan has known for a while that he yearns for closeness and touch, that he finds it comforting, but this is much more, this is innocent and maddening at the same time, and he loves it.  
Keeping silent becomes harder nd harder as Star-Lord's fingers starts wandering up and down his neck and over the back of his head. He has always hated being bald, but for once he doesn't mind, because, by the grace of Pama, he likes the feeling of the Terran's blunt nails raking gently on his scalp and he can't help arching into his touch.

Star-Lord's breath is warm against his skin, and heavy with lust, as he dreamed it would be.  
It is already overwhelmingly good, but then Star-Lord shifts his hand to his front, and all of a sudden it becomes even better, and he wraps his hands around the chains to be able to hold on to something because he fears he might fall apart otherwise.  
Gentle, explorative touches trace his chest and abdomen, then his arms, up to where the chains are fastened around his wrists, and he can feel Star-Lord's breath on his face and he knows that it would take hardly anything for his master's lips to claim his own, and he wants it, he wants it so hard that he cannot think of anything else.  
He can feel the warmth of Star-Lord's body getting closer and closer and he tenses up unbearably, wating, wanting...

When the Terran's nails rake across his pebbled nipples, filling him with a mixture of pain and delight, he cannot contain a whimper and Star-Lord suddenly retreats with a low growl.  
Ronan curses inwardly. If he had just managed to keep quiet for a moment more...  
He hears Star-Lord taking something from the rack and the next thing he knows, something hard and cold and edgy is sliding against his skin. It takes him a moment to realise that it is the blind side of some sort of knife.  
"Some people here would like to have you for themselves, my _haaq_... - Star-Lord says suavely - I shall mark you as mine, then, so that all may know it." he declares, and suddenly the sharp edge of the knife bites into his skin, along his ribs, so quick and light that he might have imagined, only the tiny, superficial cut stings, and he can feel the blood start to well, and then something warm and wet is on him.

Star-Lord is licking the wound clean with his tongue, and it stings even more, but it feels so good... It is so amazing and overwhelming that he cannot control himself.  
He cries out, and arches helplessly against his touch, and Star-Lord cuts him again, and again, cold blade and warm mouth, pleasure and pain so mingled that he cannot distinguish them anymore and he doesn't care.  
He is whimpering with every breath. He trembles, and his legs can hardly support him any longer.  
He barely remembers that there are other people looking at them. They don't matter, Star-Lord is the only one that matters, the only one that ever did, and he hopes that this is not just for show, because it is all he would have dreamed of, if he had ever allowed himself to dream of such things.

"You are mine." Star-Lord declares again. He is now standing at his back once more and his mouth traces lines down his neck and across his shoulders.  
He is stating nothing but the truth.

"Say it. Tell them." Star-Lord orders. He bites down on the muscle connecting his neck and left shoulder, hard enough to hurt slightly on top of how good it feels, and sucks on the skin to make sure that it will bruise, that he will be marked for at least a little while. For some reason that mixture of feelings absolutely strips him of control.  
"Yes! - he cries out - I am yours! Oh, fuck!"  
He doesn't usually curse, but when Star-Lord bites him again, he cannot think.  
He doesn't care that everyone is looking, he doesn't care about what he had told the Terran before they got in the club, he just wants Star-Lord to strip him bare and fuck him there and then, in the middle of the room.

Before he can start to babble and maybe blow their cover, Star-Lord slips in front of him again, and this time their lips crash together, hard and passionate. The Terran's mouth tastes like his own blood and he does not know exactly what he is doing, but Star-Lord takes control of the kiss, clamping a hand against the back of his neck to prevent him from escaping (as if he would), and it feels wonderful.  
Their bodies are pressed close and something hard is digging in his tigh, and he is sure it is not a gun, they have left all weapons on the ship...

"Oh!" he thinks, realising what is the most likely, no, only explanation. His own manhood twitches in response and he moans into the kiss.  
He can't think, he can hardly breathe. It is almost too much.  
Star-Lord finally breaks the kiss, releasing him. Ronan gasps for air and whimpers quietly, hungry for more.

"I think they learned the lesson. And you did too, didn't you?" Star-Lord growls, hovering close enough for him to imagine that it could continue.  
His tongue darts lightning-quick against his lips, and Ronan tries to somehow capture him again, but all he gets is a sharp tap with a finger against his nose.  
"No, bluebell, this is not why we started this." he chides gently.  
The painless but resounding blow and the nickname manage to break through the lust that has clouded his judgement. He has gotten carried away by the charade, but can Star-Lord truly blame him for that, seeing that it is mostly his fault?  
"Apologies, my Lord..." he manages through gritted teeth. He is still so hard that it is becoming uncomfortable, and now that the haze of lust is gone, he is starting to feel his arms ache from the tension and the nicks scattered on his torso sting and burn.  
"It's alright. Let's get you out of this." Star-Lord retorts softly, confusing him even further by gently petting his cheek.

The chains are loosened and the blindfold discarded. Ronan feels weak and shaky and the soft lighting of the club manages to feel overbright and dazzling.  
Star-Lord helps him to a sofa. The Terran's hands shake slightly and his voice does too when he asks him "Are you alright?".  
Ronan meets his eyes briefly. Star-Lord looks as confused and dazed as he is. He is glad that their _moment_ has affected him as strongly, but he doesn't know how to express his feelings and that is not the right moment anyway, so he just drops his gaze and nods.  
"I need to speak with the manager again. Will you be alright if I..." Star-Lord asks.  
Ronan nods again. "I am fine." he declares.  
Star-Lord hesitates, licks his lips (and Ronan tries very hard not to notice the smudge of blue blood near the corner of his mouth), then nods and stands to leave.

Ronan's moment of solitude doesn't last long though. In a moment, Lukan has appeared with a glass of some beverage in his hands.  
"Here, have this, it'll do you good. - the performer says, thrusting the cocktail into Ronan's hands - You are a lucky bastard you know?" he adds as the Kree starts to sip on the pinkish sweet-salty liquid. It tastes like some sort of isotonic sports drink. He realises that he needed it.  
"Am I?" he retorts, puzzled.  
Lukan laughs. "Let's put it this way... that thing you and your master did there... It was the sexiest thing I've seen in this club since, like, forever. - he reveals - I'd give lots to have someone who knows me and cares for me enough to top me with so much feeling and passion. And you said you two have just started..." he comments dreamily.  
Ronan feels himself blushing again. It is weird how can he still feel embarassed after he has basically had public sex with his master.  
"It was the first time we tried something like... _that_." he confesses. The Xandarian is so friendly and chatty and totally uninhibited that... it just feels right to talk to him about what happened.

Lukan whistles in admiration.  
"Like I said, you are a lucky bastard, mate. - he continues with a chuckle and a light shake of his raven-haired head - Don't let your chance pass because you are too afraid to talk, alright? Things like the one you two have there, they are too precious to waste. Just keep it in mind, OK?" he adds, and Ronan looks at him in confusion, because he doesn't know if they have anything, but Lukan seems so adamant. Has the Xandarian seen something that he could not?  
"Ah, gotta go now, before your master breaks me in two for talking to you again! - Lukan exclaims with a chuckle - Let me know if I was right, OK? I'm Lukan Hurst. Find me on ComNet." he adds, then saunters away, blowing him a very theatrical kiss.

"Again?! What does that guy want from you?!" Star-Lord exclaims, definitely vexed, when he comes back.  
Ronan shrugs, feeling some of the already-healing cuts reopen.  
"Lukan? He is just trying to be friendly." he replies nonchalantly.  
Another flash passes over Star-Lord's eyes.  
Jealousy. This time it is quite clear. Star-Lord is actually jealous of him.  
"Are you upset about it? - he asks - You never told me... you never said I wasn't allowed to meet new people." he adds quietly.  
Star-Lord sighs and lowers his head. "Look, I'm sorry... I'm a bit high-strung about this situation. - he says, rubbing his forehead - Of course you are allowed to make friends, bluebell. Was that guy Xandarian?" he adds with a forced smile.  
Ronan acquiesces. "Things change. And he doesn't like their government either." he explains, forcing out a smile too. The mood has shifted, and not in a happy way, even if he doesn't know why.  
"Ah. - Star-Lord comments, mildly surprised - We'al will see us now. Are you well enough to stand?" he asks, now back to being gentle and caring.  
Ronan nods and stands without any ill effect. That drink has truly worked wonders.  
"Here." Star-Lord adds, handing him his jacket. He had completely forgotten about it.  
"We left it down there." the Terran explains.  
"Thanks. - Ronan says - Shall we go then?". He drapes the jacket on his shoulder instead of donning it. He doesn't want to cover himself just yet. He enjoys bearing Star-Lord's marks on him.


	17. Chapter 17

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains minor mentions of slavery, violence and life-altering injuries.

Now back to the investigation! This chapter contains one of my first attempts, if not the first, at writing a genderqueer/agender/xenosexual alien. Let me know what you think about them.  
As a note, I am using the LGBTQ+ convention of using "they/them" as personal pronouns for people whose gender is undisclosed, neutral, or not really important. It is not a grammatical mistake, and it is not multiple characters.

In addition to that, I have managed to sneak in my head-canon about how Yondu has lost his Centaurian crest.

Enjoy!

* * *

They are led by the manager through an ensconced door and up a flight of stairs, into a private area of the club which is even more lavish and sumptuous than the lower floor.  
The concierge opens another door, paneled with some dark wood and ushers them in, closing the door behind them.

"Welcome, my guests... " greets a well-groomed creature from a leather armchair.  
Their scaly skin is a slightly iridescent lilac, and, in place of hair, their head is crowned by some kind of webbed spines, the thin, translucent skin delicately mottled with cream and ocher. Their suit is cream-coloured too, their cravat ocher, which makes their slanted laser-green eyes seem even brighter. Their angular face and their slender, elegant figure are very androgynous, and make it very hard to determine if We'al is old or young, male or female, or both, or something completely different. Even their voice gives almost no clue. They are beautiful, though.

Ronan is surprised by We'al appearance and surroundings. Knowing that their quarry is a middleman for an illicit activity and a voyeur, he was expecting some slimy, slightly disgusting person, not a refined gentleman, or rather gentle-person.  
There are several works of art in the room, most likely stolen. They seem to have been chosen to subtly fit with the room and each other.  
We'al must be a connoisseur.

"Thank you for receiving us, Mr We'al. It is a pleasure to finally meet you." Star-Lord returns the greeting.  
"The pleasure is mine. Do take a seat, please. - We'al replies with a polite nod - I have to admit, your performance was... striking. So much trust, so much intimacy... It was a pleasure to watch, like a well-conducted symphony." they declare. Ronan frowns. Watching a symphony?

"But let's not dwell on this. You said you were here for business..." We'al continues, daintily crossing their legs and smiling sweetly.  
"Yes, of course." Star-Lord replies, sitting down on the armchair opposite We'al. Ronan lowers himself down next to it, kneeling down instead of sitting to be ready to pounce when the time comes.

"I have been sent your way by a friend who has had occasions of working with you in the past. - Star-Lord explains - I require your assistance to solve a personal problem." he offers.  
"Let's hear it. I cannot promise anything until I know what the matter is, but... when there is a will there is a way, as they say..." We'al exhorts him suavely.  
"Money is not an issue." Star-Lord declares.  
We'al frowns, of all things, and shakes his head. His spines bristle a bit in displeasure.  
"Let's not ruin our conversation with talks of money yet. - he chides gently - Tell me, instead, what can I do for you?"  
Star-Lord nods politely. "That is very handsome of you, sir. - he says, then switches off the holo-morphic resonator and jumps to his feet - You can start by telling me who is the bastard who is paying for my hide!" he exclaims, thrusting a knife at We'al. There is still a smudge of blue blood on it. He must have pocketed it in the main room downstairs, when everyone was distracted by the sight of them trying to fuck each other through their clothes.  
Clever, clever Star-Lord, Ronan thinks, rising to his feet in turn.

We'al seems genuinely surprised and horrified by the situation, and recoils in their armchair. Something twitches and flicks. It's a tail. We'al has a long, sinewy, arrow-tipped tail. It's not stranger than the rest of them.  
"Oh gods! - he exclaims - You are Peter! Yondu's hatchling! I... I'd never..." he protests, raising their hands in front of him.  
"Your client might know me as Star-Lord. " the Terran insists.  
A membrane slides sideways on We'al's eyes. Their head-spines perk up.  
"You are _the_ Star-Lord? The one who defeated...? - they ask, wide-eyed - Oh, gods! Then you must be..." he starts, turning towards Ronan.  
"I am Ronan, former Supreme Accuser of the Kree Empire." he confirms.  
"Oh, but this is amazing! - We'al exclaims, clapping their hands in excitement - I am so proud of you, Peter!" they add.  
"Yeah, proud enough to sic some mercs after me!" Star-Lord insists.  
"I did no such thing! - We'al repeats - I don't know what your father told you about me, but even if I _am_ a thief, I do have some moral standards!" they declare proudly, rising to their feet too in spite of the knife.  
"Contrary to your dear father Youndu, I would never get involved in an assassination attempt!" he adds firmly. Their head-spines quiver and their tail lashes out from side to side in irritation.  
"Oh really? - Star-Lord retorts - Because some mercs did try to kidnap me and nearly killed my buddy here!" he yells stepping closer to We'al and poking them in the chest.  
"And you know what? - he asks - When one of our friends beat seven different kinds of crap out of them, they told us that _you_ had found them the job!" he concludes, poking them again.  
We'al seems to deflate a bit.  
"What company were they from?" they ask.  
"The Companions of the Silver Hand." Ronan answers for him.

A stream of loud hisses and clicks pours from We'al's lips, while the thief stomps their foot on the floor and nearly upturns the coffee table with a violent lash of their tail.  
Ronan is quite sure that their host is cursing up a storm.  
"That woman! She deceived me! She played me for a fool!" We'al exclaims finally.  
"What woman?" both Star-Lord and Ronan ask at the same time.

We'al flops back on the armchair with a theatrical gesture.  
"I don't know her name. - they reveal - She contacted me though a friend, told me that she needed my connections for something that required discretion. It happens sometimes. I don't mind doing some favours here and there." he narrates, waving a hand in the air.  
"If the price is right, you mean..." Star-Lord comments sharply.  
"If I like the person who asks them." We'al corrects stiffly.

"And you liked her." Ronan says, trying to smooth out things.  
Star-Lord is being very confrontational, but it doesn't always help when questioning someone. Sometimes a bit of empathy does the trick, instead.  
"She was fascinating. - We'al confirms - She was noblewoman from Spartax, tall and powerful like their goddesses, skin like polished teak. I didn't see her face, she was wearing a traditional veil, but I saw her eyes. They were blue. And her voice, it was like gardenias. Perfect." they comment, almost purring. Ronan frowns at the last remark. What is that supposed to mean?

"And what did this dark goddess ask you to do?" the Kree continues, directing the flow of conversation.  
Star-Lord lets him, nodding in thanks. He looks still upset, even if Ronan doesn't really understand why.  
"The crux of the matter was that she had had a youthful indiscretion with an unsuitable alien partner. - We'al replies - She had become unhappy with the guardians she had appointed for their upbringing, and wanted to retrieve them from their custody. She told me that she couldn't get personally involved, with her marriage and reputation at stake, so she asked me to act as her middleman." they explain calmly.  
"And you accepted." Ronan continues.  
We'al nods and twitches their spines. "It seemed like the chivalrous thing to do." they acquiesce.  
"So, what happened next?" he asks.  
"She left me a package. - We'al replies - It contained a DNA tracer and all the info on the hatchling, at least, that's what she told me."  
"Did you check what it contained?" Ronan asks.  
"Of course not! - the thief exclaims, indignant - She asked for the utmost discretion, I couldn't pry like that!" they add with a huff.  
Ronan rolls his eyes. "Behold the honourable thief..." he thinks.  
"So you contacted the Companions of the Silver Hand." he states.  
We'al acquiesces. "They have a reputation for being discrete and honest. And their Captain General owed me a favour. - they clarify - That's all I know."  
Ronan nods and thanks him, but the thief seem to have worked themselves up into a frenzy again.

They ruffle their spines and make a chirping sound of anguish.  
"I thought I was helping a distressed lady. I couldn't imagine I would be harming you, the hatchling of my beloved Yondu. - they declare, genuinely horrified - Had I known, nothing could have made me accept the deal, not even all the wealth of Spartax, rich in gold. You have to believe me!" they plead, chirping and trembling again.  
Star-Lord sighs and shakes his head. "I do. - he replies - But seriously, if you and Yondu are still so hung up about each other, why did you break up in the first place?" he asks.

We'al's spines droop.  
"We were sharing command of a Ravager ship, before he adopted you. We had reclaimed some historical artifacts from some ruins, and kept one for myself... It was an exquisite piece of art, and I intended to claim it as my lawful part of the loot, but he had promised it to a client. - they confess - It came to blows, nearly to a mutiny. And now he surely hates me, even though I... even though my feelings for him haven't changed." they add sheepishly.  
Star-Lord chuckles and shakes his head.  
"He came very close to begging me for your life and continued health. - Peter retorts - If he doesn't hate me after the series of stunts I pulled on him about the Orb, I doubt he'd ever be able to hate you." he adds.

"You were the one to rescue him when they chopped off his crest, weren't you? - Ronan chimes in - I've heard that it is worse than being blinded, for a Centaurian. It is likely that he owes you his ability to lead an independent, active life, and his continued sanity, such as it is." he adds with a hint of disdain. He doesn't like Star-Lord's father much.  
We'al's laser-green eyes go wide in surprise.  
"How do you know?! - he exclaims - Did he...?"  
Ronan shakes his head. "He didn't tell me, no. - he replies - He rubbed his implants when he was speaking about the debt he owes to you. It was enough." he explains.  
"How... How did that happen?" Star-Lord asks, looking vaguely nauseated.  
"It was back at the time of the Badoon raids on Centauri. They took him into slavery and mutilated him so that he wouldn't escape. Yondu was fifteen, maybe, at the time. - We'al narrates gloomily - He was beautiful, and hopeless, and I... I couldn't leave him there to die. I seduced his master and killed him, and off we went, to Knowhere. I had him restored, and told him he was free. For me was enough to know that he'd be alright. He stayed... We had years of adventures together." We'al continues. His spines quiver, and his eyes fill with tears.  
"And I ruined it all... for greed. - he sniffles - I was an idiot." he berates himself.

"Don't despair, my friend. Maybe it's not as bad as it seemed back then. Time and distance mend many wounds. - Peter tries to cheer him up, laying a hand on his thin shoulder - Maybe you should give him a call... Here is the number." he adds, passing a small datachip to the thief, who snatches it, and suddenly switches from tearful desolation to chirruping, beaming joy.  
They hug Star-Lord, thanking him profusely and vowing to repay their debt, somehow, saying that Star-Lord would only have to ask and they'd do whatever it takes, if only Yondu would take him back...

Being in love looks like being stuck to the biggest emotional roller-coaster imaginable, Ronan muses to himself, but from what little he knows about it, it seems worth it.


	18. Chapter 18

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains Peter's confused boner and plot thickening. This is turning out to be a massive Marvel-style saga...

For those of you who follow my two most recent Star Wars fics, "Breakers of Chains" and "CIS Commandos", I have not abandoned them, I'm just concentrating on finishing this one before I resume working on those two monsters.

* * *

"So, it looks like we are going to Spartax, next." Peter says, stretching and yawning.  
He and Ronan are sitting on top of the Milano. The sun is dawning on K'soth. Theirs has been a long night, but Peter doesn't feel like going to sleep just yet and by the looks of it, neither does Ronan.

"Sounds like a plan." the Kree replies with a lazy smile.  
He still hasn't replaced his jacket and Peter has a hard time trying not to ogle him. He has always been attractive, but the fact that he is now sporting his marks makes him almost irresistible.  
"Ever been there before?" Peter asks.  
The Kree shakes his head. "I was a bit too tied up with the war and my duties to travel around the Galaxy for leisure." he explains.  
"Oh, well, I suppose you had places to be, heads to smash..." Peter teases.  
Ronan laughs hearthily. "Exactly. - he agrees - But it's never too late to see new places and try new things. Without you, I would have never had the chance." he adds, turning to look at him.

"You mean if we hadn't fucked up your life?" Peter asks, feeling a twinge of guilt, he doesn't even know why.  
If they had not, they would never be having this conversation, but since they have, and Ronan is their honour-bound _haaq_, Peter might never know for sure if whatever the Kree feels for him and Gamora is real and not just Centaurian syndrome or some sort of twisted sense of duty.

"My life was in turmoil long before you entered the scene. - Ronan replies calmly - I rather think you helped me fix it. I am more balanced now than I ever was before." he adds.  
"But you are not free." Peter counters.  
"Am I not? - the Kree retorts, quirking a hairless eyebrow - Then I have never been. All my life I obeyed someone else's orders. You must have realised that I don't exactly mind..." he adds, giving him a sidelong glance.  
"Is that innuendo?" Peter asks himself. He likes the idea that it might be.

"Yeah, right... - he says, rubbing the back of his neck to hide his embarrassment - About that... I am sorry if I overstepped the boundaries a bit at the Silk Den." he adds.  
Ronan gives him one of his trademark impenetrable looks.  
"I mean, we had not agreed anything about kisses, and, who knows, maybe you didn't like it... Maybe you are not even into guys, I mean, maybe you are not gay at all." Peter finds himself babbling, just to fill the silence.

"To be honest, I never put any real thought into the matter. - Ronan says, stopping him in his tracks - I wasn't popular with my classmates at the Academy." he adds as if explains everything.  
"And I wasn't really interested in any relationship at the time." he continues, a bit ruefully, after a brief pause.  
"Too busy acing those pesky tests?" Peter teases.  
A smile appears on the Kree's face. "And then too busy working. - he confirms - And at that point it was too late for dallying with men anyway. I was supposed to marry as soon as possible after graduating." he explains.  
"But you didn't, did you?" Peter asks, suddenly nervous and almost jealous.  
"No I didn't. - Ronan says, shaking his head - I vowed not to marry until the end of the war. I didn't want to leave a widow and orphans behind when I died."  
"When?!" Peter repeats.  
"I never thought I was going to see the end of it. I am not even sure I would have wanted to. - Ronan reveals - The beginning and the end of my life _was_ the war, back then. I told you, I was already 'fucked up' long before we met." he adds with a wry smile, seeing the shocked expression on the Terran's face.

"So, I get it, you passed up marriage, because you thought that you were a goner anyway, but you must have had at least a girlfriend... or a lover, or a one-night-stand..." he offers, feeling slightly panicky.  
Ronan shakes his head.  
"Not really. I had never... I had never felt any physical desire for anyone. - he confesses, blushing dark blue - I thought I was... defective, in that respect. And I mean biologically."  
Peter's mind starts spinning horribly and his face freezes in what he hopes is a warm smile but feels more like a rictus.  
Ronan is not just confused and inhibited about sex, he is a bloody virgin and he has just forced him into what amounts to public sex in front of a crowd of strangers in a club!  
This is... this is insane and wrong, and... gods! How wrong is it that, now that he knows, Peter wants him even more?

"I have only recently realised that the problem was not... _down there_, but here, and here..." Ronan continues, oblivious to the Terran's minor crisis, pointing at his head and at his heart.  
Peter makes all the appropriate noises, but he is barely listening. He feels guilty about forcing him in such a situation, and even more guilty for having assumed things about him, instead of talking with him about them like an adult.

"I was hiding behind my duty and the traditions of my people to get away with repressing my feelings. - Ronan confesses - I thought that having feelings was weak and childish, but the truth is that I was afraid. You Guardians taught me that I don't need to fear, that I can both be a warrior on the path of Pama and care for people, and now... well, the problem has fixed itself, it seems..." he adds, blushing even darker.  
"And how!" Peter thinks, dreamily recalling how those bloody rock-star trousers were doing basically nothing to conceal the Kree's impressive hard-on, and how he had happily ground himself on it as they kissed.

"Had you ever kissed anyone before tonight?" Star-Lord asks, keeping his gaze in the distance.  
"No. That was... that was my first time." Ronan replies shyly.  
It is the answer Peter dreaded.  
"I am sorry..." he says quietly.  
"Eh!? Why?" Ronan asks. Peter is still looking away, but he can clearly imagine a perplexed expression on his face. He is cute when he is confused.  
"Because that was not how it is supposed to be." Peter retorts, shaking his head.  
"And how it is supposed to be, then?" the Kree insists, quite belligerent.  
"I... I don't know! - Peter exclaims, feeling the weight of his gaze on him - Romantic, maybe? At least with a person of the gender you prefer? And maybe not forced by the circumstances of a mission?" he adds with growing irritation towards himself.  
"I wasn't complaining..." Ronan points out.  
Peter lets out a strangled growl. He doesn't know what to say. He wants to believe that Ronan liked it as much as he did, that he was totally into it and his consent was freely given, but he is not sure. He is very, very afraid of having exploited the Kree's submissive streak and sudden bout of delayed puberty, and having stolen something important from him.

"I shouldn't have brought you with me." Peter says.  
"Excuse me?! But the mission was a success!" Ronan protests.  
"That is not the point! - Peter retorts - And the fact that you don't see it is another proof that I shouldn't have gotten you into that situation." he adds more calmly.  
"I did consent, if that's what you are worried about." Ronan declares firmly. He looks slightly angry and that is something Peter would have never wanted.  
"I might be inexperienced, but I am not ignorant. I knew what we were potentially getting ourselves into, and I _told_ you I was fine with it. - he continues - You must have realised that I didn't bloody mind what happened in there!"  
"You consented because it was a mission." Peter accuses, even as a shiver runs through him at the memory of how sexy and happy and utterly gone he had looked. He wants Ronan to want him as much as he wants him, he wants everything from him, friendship, sex, love, but he won't take anything until he is certain that it is mutual and freely given.  
"What if I told you I wanted to bang you just because? Would it be the same for you?" he questions sharply. Ronan pauses and blinks, most of his confidence gone.  
"Or better, would you ask me for sex? Would you initiate it?" Peter insists.  
The Kree hesitates, opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again without a sound.

"Thought so." Peter comments ruefully. Better to know, even if it breaks his heart. He stands up and drops from the top of the ship to the ground of the parking lot. He needs to sleep, and maybe a stiff, strong drink.  
"Wait, no! - Ronan pleads, standing up in turn - I... I can explain!"  
"I don't need explanations." Peter retorts. Not now. Maybe when it stops hurting so much, like in a thousand years.

The hatch of the Milano opens, spitting out a groggy, confused Drax.  
"Well met, comrades! - he greets, blinking in the light - I gather that your mission was successful." he comments cheerfully.  
"Yeah, we have a lead." Peter replies, glad for the distraction.  
"Capital! - Drax exclaims - We have run out of stimulating morning drinks, I am going to buy some, for the rest, we should be ready to depart." he adds.  
"Yeah, sure. - Peter says - This ship runs on coffee. Good call!"

"Peter?! Ronan?! You're back!" Gamora shouts from inside the ship. She must have heard him talking with Drax through the open hatch.  
"Yep! Safe and sound!" he shouts back, feigning cheerfulness.  
"Come in, quick! Nebula has made contact! There are news about Terra!" she yells.  
"An even bigger distraction, great!" Peter thinks.  
"Coming! - he yells, then turns to Drax - Be quick, alright?" he instructs.  
The Destroyer nods and runs off.  
"Coming, bluebell?" Peter asks, looking up at Ronan. The Kree leaps from the top of the ship and closes in on him.  
"This conversation is not over." he threatens, stepping through the hatch.

Thankfully, it is instead.  
Nebula's message says that another Infinity Stone has cropped up on Terra, and nearly appropriated by some crazy dudes called Svartalfar. Apparently, they were repelled by the same weird coalition of Asgardians and Terrans of whom Gamora had spoken earlier, and now the Stone is in Terran hands.

"Between Terra and Asgard, they have two of the six stones. Another one is on Xandar. - Nebula argues in the recorded message - That we know, Thanos only has one, the Mind Stone. An alliance could achieve much, under the present circumstances." she concludes.  
The Guardians can't help but agree.  
The message continues after that, and Nebula claims to have solid links into the Asgardian palace. She closes off by asking for a parlay between them, her and the Asgardian representative.  
"I still hate you, little sister... - the assassin says, addressing Gamora directly - But I hate Thanos more, and stopping him is more important to me than anything else, so, please, reply to me. Let me know where we can meet and talk." she adds, just before the video recording stops.

"I don't like the crazy blue bitch, but she has a point." Rocket says, summing up the feelings of all the others, apart maybe from Gamora and Ronan.  
Peter scans all the others with his gaze. They all nod.  
"And what if it is a trap?" he objects, just for the sake of caution.  
"Then we deal with my sister once and for all." Gamora declares, unsheathing one of her knives.

After a brief debate, they decide to go to Spartax anyway, because if they are going to go to war against Thanos, it is better that they cover their backs first by dealing with whoever is trying to capture Peter.  
They send a reply to Nebula, telling her that they will meet in Spartax in two standard galactic weeks, then start the preparations for take off. Peter is not usually one to make things by the book, but this time he doesn't leave out a single safety check.  
He wants to keep busy. He doesn't want to think.


	19. Chapter 19

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Sorry for the wait, folks! It was bank holiday on Monday in UK, then we had a guy come over to repair our oven, and then general crazyness.

This chapter will finally show a bit of Gamora's PoV, and confuse things even further.

Warnings: more of Peter's confused boner, while Gamora is not confused at all. Non-graphic M/F/M threesome Peter/Gamora/OMC.  
Don't kill me, we are getting closer and closer to the target, but I had to throw in some extra angst.

* * *

As soon as Peter and Ronan are back from their mission, Gamora immediately realises that there is something wrong. There is an extra weight to their gazes, an extra tension in their words. She would like to talk to them, but Peter buries himself in preparations, avoiding her, and Ronan does the same.

That night, after they land on Spartax Prime, Peter crawls in their bed, totally wiped out by exhaustion and tension.  
Gamora holds him tight, waiting for him to feel comfortable and calm enough to tell her what's wrong.

"I want him, Gamora..." he whispers after a while. There is no need for him to clarify who is it that Peter wants. This is a discussion they have been having on and off for nearly a year, ever since they had their tearful "group therapy session". Gamora shares his desire, and often they have fantasized of dragging Ronan into their bed and taking turns in driving him mad with pleasure. So far, they have been biding their time, waiting for a sign. Maybe things are finally coming to a head, she thinks.

"I love him... You know." Peter continues, hugging her even closer. There is desperation in his words, even if she doesn't understand why.  
Gamora starts petting his hair. It always relaxes him.  
"I know, of course I know. - she whispers - And you know I love him too." she adds.

Back when they had lived together on the Dark Aster, she had not allowed herself to feel anything for Thanos' proud and solemn newest plaything, but she loved the loyal, gentle and hopelessly awkward person that she had discovered him to be from the bottom of her heart.

Among her people, before they were almost completely wiped out by Thanos, each woman used to marry two men, choosing them to balance each other out. A marriage in which the two men also loved each other used to be considered a perfect marriage.  
She doesn't remember her mother and her two fathers much, just glimpses here and there, but she remembers they were happy, and in love, and that they loved her. For her, that is the paradigm of happiness, stability and comfort, and since she had started to be able to feel again, she has wanted something like this for herself.  
The gods were kind to her, after so much misfortune, they have put on her path two wonderful men, and she loves them both, for different reasons, but with the same intensity. She is sure they could be happy together, if only she could get the two of them to talk to each other, or Ronan to talk to anyone before getting to the breaking point.

"I nearly had him, last night... - Peter continues, whispering close to her ear - Oh, gods, Gamora... I wish you could have seen him! He was... amazing. I never wanted any man as much as I want him..." he confesses.  
He tells her of their ploy to get an audience with We'al of having Ronan tied up and blindfolded at his mercy, of marking him, and of how he whimpered and cried out for him, of how his hardness pressed against Peter's leg as the Terran kissed him...

Gamora feels herself getting wet and ready just by hearing about it.  
"So finally you two have managed to sort it out..." she whispers heatedly, kissing him hard.  
"I... no, Gamora, I don't think so..." he replies, breaking the kiss and hiding his face against her neck.  
"What went wrong?" she asks, puzzled. What he told her seems like a wonderful resolution to their problem.  
"He is... he is a bloody virgin, Gamora! - Peter explodes, blushing an adorable shade of crimson - He had never even been kissed before yesterday night!"  
At those words, something inside her does a victory dance. It is even better than what she had imagined. She would want nothing better than to be Ronan's first, to watch him discover they joys of sex with them...

"I fail to see how this might be a problem, Peter... It seems like a boon to me..." she whispers.  
"It is a problem if he doesn't know what he wants and feels like it is a duty for him to go ahead with whatever we ask of him." he retorts somberly.  
"Do you really think it is so?" she asks.  
"I... I don't know. - he says, sounding lost and burrowing even harder against her - I was upset by what he had told me, so I asked him if he would take the initiative with me..." he recounts.  
"And...?" Gamora asks gently, masking her own unease.  
"And he didn't say anything... but he looked panicky. - he reveals - Either he is not ready for this yet, or he doesn't want it." he concludes dejectedly.  
"Or maybe he was just confused into speechlessness, like he is sometimes. Come on Peter, you know how he is... - she tries to comfort him - You know that sometimes when things are too far out of his comfort zone he just... well he goes all silent and broody, until he has come to terms with it."  
Peter raises his head for a moment, looking a little bit hopeful under all the doom and gloom.  
"I know, but..." he starts to protest, but Gamora silences him with a kiss.  
"And did you think that maybe he misunderstood you and thought you were asking him to dom you?" she asks, after they surface for air.  
Peter does not reply, but she knows that he is thinking about her point.

"Maybe he wouldn't want _that_, maybe he doesn't like to lead in bed... - she wonders - Maybe what he wants is for us to dom him, but doesn't quite know it himself yet..." she adds and she feels him shiver in delight at the thought.  
"Give him time, Peter... let him think about your moment together..." she exhorts him.

"I have, Gamora! Gods, we both have! - he nearly sobs - But now, after yesterday... I just can't stop thinking about him and all the things I want us to do together... and I don't want to pressure him, I want to wait for him, but... gods, I don't know how I'll manage..." he confesses.  
Gamora shushes him gently, petting him to help him calm down.  
"It's been long since we had a man in our bed. - she says - Maybe we should pick up someone on Spartax. Just to ease the pressure, you know... just to help us wait." she proposes.

Peter does not reply, but the following day, when they disperse to explore the capital of Spartax Prime, he drags her away from the rest and into a fancy club.  
They pick up a tall Spartoi guy, dark-haired and tanned, and bring him back to the Milano. It is quite easy to convince him, Spartoi culture doesn't frown on homosexuality, and the Spartoi seem to have a taste for the exotic.

The guy is tall and powerful enough that if she closes her eyes, and keeps her hands resolutely away from his hair, she can imagine that the man who is thrusting into her as Peter takes him from behind is Ronan.  
Still, it is purely physical, and it feels hollow, mechanical. It might sate the need gnawing at them, at least for a while, but it does nothing for the ache in her heart.  
Only the real thing can cure that.


	20. Chapter 20

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains more of Ronan's confused boner, some mild speciesism and sexism as well as angst, mild violence and voyeurism.

The inhabitants of Spartax are called Spartoi in the comics, which is reason enough for me to make them channel a whole lot of ancient Greece in their language and behaviour.

_Helot(s)_ means slave(s) or servant(s) and _barbaroi _means barbarians.

Also, the Shi'ar are another extra-terrestrial race from the Marvel comics. Some of them are avian-esque humanoids, others look a lot like humans. I am going with the avian-esque theme and giving them all feathers in place of hair.  
Gladiator is a real Shi'ar character from the comics, which I am re-casting for the benefit of the story. This is an AU, after all.

Enjoy, and don't kill me, please.

* * *

During their trip to Spartax Prime and the following night, Ronan thinks long and hard about his perplexing talk with Star-Lord.  
He had thought that the Terran had finally realised that he wanted him, and he even tried to _tell_ him, in a way, even if it was already a bit like stepping into whore territory already.  
But no, suddenly Star-Lord is all worried and put off by the fact that he is inexperienced in bed! That has to be one of the most frustrating things he has ever experienced!  
What is the problem with him?! Isn't he happy that he can have him first, stake his claim over him unequivocally, and so on?!  
It makes him nearly want to go to the first bar he can find on Spartax and lay with any man who fancies him.

That rebellious plan doesn't survive five minutes after he has conceived it, though.  
What he is after, isn't just carnal pleasure. He wants what he has briefly had at the Silk Den, to give himself up to the person he loves and trusts. He wants Star-Lord and Gamora, yes, them both, to make him theirs.

That night, he even dreams about it. The dream is vague, and confused, and as soon as he wakes up he can barely remember it already, but he is hard as a rock, and can't stop thinking about both his masters.  
He won't be able to resist without giving himself away. Hell, he has already given himself away enough in that wretched club, but it has not made things better.  
Curse the lack of perceptiveness of Gamora and Star-Lord! Does he have to tell them everything in gory detail for them to understand that he _is_ willing?

Maybe he does, he thinks later, over breakfast.  
Maybe on Terra, or wherever Gamora comes from, everyone is much more proactive about their sexual preferences and choices of partners. Maybe his reticence, which would have been taken as a sign of honesty and modesty by his own people, comes across as unwillingness or outright rejection to those two.

The thought rocks him a bit, but it kind of makes sense, especially in the light of some of the things Star-Lord has said during their discussion.  
He seemed to be very keen on freedom of choice and consent, so maybe for him it is not enough that he goes along with what he suggests or orders.

Maybe they need him to be more clear, and openly assert his willingness and availability.  
Ronan is not sure it he is comfortable with that. Kree people are not very forward about sex, and _haaq_ are not supposed to be forward at all, but something has to be done if they want to get out of that impasse, and it seems that he will have to do it.

It even seems right, after he thinks a bit about it.  
He _wants_ it, and being all underhanded in the hope that they will realise it, and force him into a situation where they can give him what he wants seems a lot more dishonest than just telling them straight away.

So far he has been trying to push the choice and the responsibility on them, and it is not fair, especially if anything less than explicit consent turns sex into abuse or even rape in their cultures.  
He doesn't want that, he thinks with a shiver. He has ended up dealing with some rapists in his career as an Accuser (mostly with a swift and sure blow of his hammer to their heads), and he knows that Star-Lord and Gamora are nothing like them. He doesn't want to put them in a position in which they end up feeling that they are like those cruel perverts.

They want him to choose freely, make a statement, and transgress all the unspoken rules of being a _haaq_? Alright, he thinks with new-found determination.  
His people have struck him from the rolls, he doesn't exist for them anymore. None of them has the right to judge him any longer. He doesn't owe them anything.  
To Star-Lord and Gamora instead (and to the rest of the Guardians in truth), he owes everything, his peace, his happiness, his very life.  
If staying with them requires severing the last link with the traditions that imprisoned him in his old life, so be it. He will make them a gift of his complete, unconditional surrender.

It has taken him more than a year to figure that out, but now that he has, he cannot wait to actually put that idea into practice. He forces himself to bide his time, though.  
He would like to have some privacy when he tells them, because hopefully things will progress quite fast from there, if he has any say in it, and surely he doesn't want any of the other Guardians to see or overhear anything, especially Groot. He is still technically a child, even if the others often forget.  
No, he has to manage to get the two of them alone on the ship, while the others are somewhere else.

Star-Lord almost immediately gives him the perfect opportunity to enact his plan.  
"Alright, buddies! - he exclaims - I suggest we go out and explore this place. Just be careful, we don't know yet who our enemies are." he advises.  
"Yes, stay alert and avoid dodgy situations." Gamora asks.  
"No worries, mom. - Rocket teases - This will take care of all the bad guys!" he declares, petting his massive gun.  
"And try not to get arrested on our first day here!" Star-Lord adds, rolling his eyes.  
"Spoilsport..." Rocket mumbles.  
He and Groot leave on their own, saying something about some landmark or other they want to visit.

Ronan dons his most threadbare and unassuming clothes and leaves his _labyrs_ on the Milano. Servants are often considered unimportant and people feel more free to speak in their presence.  
He'll act the part and mingle with the crowds, hopefully that will gain him some intelligence on their quarry.

He sets out on his own, just as Star-Lord and Gamora are leaving together, and heads towards the main market of the city.  
The crowd is packed among the stall displaying wares from all over the quadrant and beyond.  
Shi'ar Space borders with the Kree Empire on the far side, and somehow a couple of Kree merchants have found their way to Spartax. Ronan steers well clear of their stall, no matter how enticing the smell of tea and spices might be. He doesn't want to rin the risk of being recognised.

He concentrates on his supply run and stops at a stall manned by a Spartoi servant, what they call an _helot_. The man, who bears a very passing resemblance to Star-Lord with his tousled, light-brown hair, is pleased by his custom and quite chatty.  
"Did you get taken in for debt, or do you have a fixed-term indenture?" he asks.  
Ronan looks at him in puzzlement for a moment. Slavery on a contract? That is a queer legal practice.  
"I have been taken captive in battle." he replies.  
"Oh, wow! You are a warrior then!" the Spartoi exclaims.  
"I was." Ronan clarifies. There is no need for the man to know the unusual arrangement he has with his masters.  
"And when is your release date?" the man continues.  
"Well, never." Ronan retorts nonchalantly.

The man's eyes go very wide and his jaw slackens in utter astonishment.  
"Oh, man! This must suck so much!" he condoles.  
"No, not really. - Ronan retorts - My masters treat me better than well."  
The man eyes him suspiciously, trying to figure out if he has told him the truth.  
"You know you can appeal to the Temple of the Twin Gods, right? - he advises - They are sworn to protect _helots_ who have been mistreated by their masters. Sometimes _barbaroi_ aliens do appalling things to their _helots_..." he explains.  
"Thank you for your concern, sir, but I am perfectly fine with my arrangement with my masters." he retorts stiffly.

The Guardians are not barbarians. They are good people, and it angers him to think that strangers might look down on them just for their motley origin and rough looks.

And he is doing it again, he realises. He is thinking and feeling things that couldn't be more different from what he thought and felt before his fall, but that somehow sound more in accord with the spirit of Pama's teachings. She teaches that one should judge all people, from their actions and not their looks or circumstances, but somehow, until not long before, he has always taken it as meaning only Kree people or subjects of the Empire.  
Now he is quite sure that that isn't how it was meant to be. Pama is a great goddess, and her message is supposed to be universal, embracing all the Galaxy and beyond. Everyone should be treated fairly, with justice and mercy.

Absorbed in his musings, he pays the concerned merchant and wanders aimlessly around the market, until he ends up in a big plaza, where what looks like a debate is being held.  
On a ring of benches sit Spartoi men of substance and power, and a few women, clothed in flowing tunics and cloaks in all the colours of the spectrum. The discussion is quite animated, but takes place in Spartoi, of which he has only a superficial knowledge, enough to know that they are talking about a marriage and about the Emperor, but no more than that.

Ronan sticks to the outskirts of the crowd, unwilling to risk being a victim of pickpockets since he cannot benefit from listening more closely to the debate.  
A few young men have climbed on the plinth of a nearby statue to have a better view of the proceedings. Ronan follows their lead and joins them on their precarious perch.

"Well met, blue man of Kree! - one of the boys greets in Trader's Tongue - The Assembly is a thing of wonder, isn't it? " he asks.  
Ronan acquiesces. "It is very impressive. - he agrees truthfully - What are they debating about?" he asks.  
"The marriage between princess Helenai and the Shi'ar prince Gladiator." the young Spartoi explains. His curls are black as jet and his skin dusky, a bit like the woman We'al described.

"The marriage that will end the war, or so they have told me." Ronan says.  
"And that will firmly put Helenai on her father's throne." the youth adds.  
"Not everyone is happy about it." another one of the company, a red-haired lad, explains.  
"And why? - Ronan asks, shifting on his precarious perch to have a better hold - Would she be a bad queen?" he asks.  
"Emperess, blue man. She'd be the Emperess of Spartax. - the first youth explains - She'd be the first woman on the throne. Emperor J'son has had fourteen daughters from his wives, but no sons." he adds.  
"Well, I am sure the Emperor will have prepared her for her task for years already." Ronan says.  
"Oh yes, she has the mind and the courage of a man... - the red-haired youth retorts - but still the soft heart of a woman, and she is very much in love with the Shi'ar prince..." he declares with displeasure.  
"The Shi'ar will end up having the upper hand in the deal." a third boy adds.  
"Yeah, and that feathered bastard will be ruling us to his pleasure." Red-hair concludes.  
"I gather that there are no alternative candidates to the throne." Ronan interjects, not entirely comfortable with the tone of some of the boys' remarks.  
Dark-skin shrugs. "There is a younger brother of Emperor J'son, but he was injured in battle. It knocked a few of his screws loose, if you know what I mean." he replies.  
"Yeah, he is totally unfit to care for himself. Princess Vesta of Shi'ar probably would rather jump off a cliff than marry him." another voice adds.

A woman takes center stage in the Assembly. Ronan momentarily switches off from the side-debate happening on the plynth between supporters and detractors of the princess.  
The Spartoi noblewoman is tall and strong, dressed in a short white tunic and a cloak of carmine red, a sword at her belt and brass bracers around her wrists. She is a warrior and a leader, it is plain to see.  
Her skin is dark and smooth, like polished ebony, and her dark curls are held by a circlet of gold around her brow. From where he is standing, he cannot quite see her eyes, but he would bet they are blue, and when she starts speaking, her voice is clear and sharp, but somehow still sweet... a bit like the smell of gardenias, as We'al had said.

"Hey, men of Spartax, who is that woman?" he asks, butting in their conversation.  
"That is her. - Dark-skin replies with a smile - Helenai of Spartax. Isn't she beautiful?" he adds.  
Ronan makes a noncommittal noise, trying to absorb the information.  
That is the princess and future Emperess of Spartax, and she is the one who arranged things to capture Star-Lord. This has the potential to become a big problem.

"And she in one of Spartax's finest warriors. - Dark-skin continues - They say she duelled prince Gladiator of Shi'ar to a standstill on the battlefields of Mekara. Only the fall of night could end their dance of death. They say that Gladiator fell immediately in love with his fierce foe." he adds, as if he is reciting a poem. Maybe he is. From his days in the Academy he remembers something about the supposed passion of Spartoi people for sagas of heroic deeds. Maybe it is actually true.  
"What is certain is that a few days after that duel, the Shi'ar proposed a dynastic union." the Spartoi continues.  
"Yeah, well, Gladiator is the spare. He has no right to the throne unless prince Praetor kicks the bucket before his wife sprogs." Red-hair chimes in.

This sparks another violent debate, but Ronan switches it off and, saying farewell to his improvised companions, jumps off the plynth and picks his way through the crowds back towards the Milano.  
The Guardians need to know as soon as possible about this piece of information.

And then he needs to stash the food into the preserver before it rots in the heat and have a shower. He is still dead set on his plan for Star-Lord and Gamora and he wants to look and smell his best for them.  
There is quite a bit of time before sundown, but he does not care. He'll bide his time a bit, maybe cook something in advance, then comm his quarry and set the trap, he tells himself as he enters the ship.

As soon as he is in, however, he realises that there is something not quite right in the Milano.  
Something is off, even if he cannot quite put his finger on what. It might be a noise at the edge of his perception, or a smell he cannot quite identify. Whatever it is, it is setting him on edge.

He stashes the perishable goods pell-mell into the preserver, and then he hears it.  
A subtle noise, some sort of gasp, or a low, suffocated cry. It is coming from one of the rooms.  
The Guardians might be in danger.

There is no time for him to get into the holding cell and retrieve his _labyrs_, apart from the fact that it is too big to wield inside the ship. He grabs one of the kitchen knives, a big, heavy thing, and quietly slips down the corridor.  
The noise is coming from Star-Lord and Gamora's room.  
The door is slightly ajar, and he peers in cautiously, starting to formulate a loose rescue plan.

And then he sees and it is clear that a rescue is not just unnecessary, but undesirable.  
Star-Lord and Gamora are naked in bed with a stranger, a Spartoi warrior by the looks of it, with a golden tan and flowing ebony locks. He is admittedly handsome, but he is nothing compared with his masters.  
Gamora is lying on her back, her long legs wrapped around the stranger's waist, her back arched and her face flushed in pleasure as he slides in and out of her.  
Star-Lord is kneeling behind the man, thrusting into him as he thrusts into Gamora, and his curls are all tousled and sweaty and he looks as beautiful as the stars.

He wants that, Ronan realises in a bittersweet flash of epiphany. He wants to be that man, caught in the middle of so much beauty. He wants to be the one to give them both pleasure.  
It should be him.

It would have been him, if he hadn't been so slow to accept his feelings, if he had not waited so long.  
He had made them wait too long and now they had found someone else, someone more confident and experienced, probably, someone whom they don't have to teach, someone whom they don't have to protect.  
He cannot really blame them. He knows that he is not actually worth waiting for, especially not for so long, but the realisation pains him, fills him with sorrow and anger.  
He drops the knife on the floor without even realising and turns his back on that scene, running out of the Milano and back into the city.

His heart feels full and heavy, ready to burst and his thoughts run in circles around the bliss he has glimpsed but will never have for himself.  
How can he go back to the Milano, after what he has seen?  
How can he look those two in the face, knowing that his longing for them has only grown, but that they don't want him anymore?  
He doesn't want to think about it. He wants to stop thinking at all, to exhaust himself into oblivion.

In his quest to avoid the crowds, Ronan ends up in one of the unsavoury districts bordering the city centre. The streets are lined with watering holes, disreputable houses and dodgy establishments of other sorts.

A placard stuck to the front of one of them attracts his attention. It is written in Trader's Tongue as well as in Spartoi and advertises a prize-fighting tournament, open to everyone.  
Ronan changes his course and enters the place.  
It reeks of old beer and sweat, with an aftertaste of blood and puke. A ten-feet-deep pit is in the center of the main room, and the crowd is gathered around it, cheering and shouting.  
He peers over the heads of the crowd. Two Spartoi men, bare from the waist up, are having at each other with fists and feet, and it seems that no holds are barred.  
Perfect. That is exactly what he needs to relieve the pain of his discovery.

Ronan quickly locates one of the managers. The man is sitting at a counter and counting a stack of credits.  
"Is it still possible to enter the tournament?" Ronan asks.  
"Of course it is, stranger. As long as you pay the entrance fee." the Spartoi replies.  
"How much?" he retorts.  
"Fifty. It's for the insurance and logistic expenses." he explains.

Ronan digs in his pockets. He still has some of the money the Guardians had given him for the supply run. He pays up, feeling slightly bad, but he _needs_ this to stay sane.  
He is left with a little more than two credits. He will make good of his debt in time.

"Can you read?" the Spartoi asks.  
Ronan acquiesces.  
"Then read and sign this. - he instructs, shoving a form under his nose - It is a legal waiver for all and any damage you might incur during the tournament." he explains.  
The Kree quickly reads through the form and signs his name at the bottom in High Kree formal script, which is mostly unknown and incomprehensible to non-Kree.  
The man eyes the form critically but doesn't comment.  
"So what is your name, fellow?" he asks.  
"Coehl." Ronan replies.  
"Right, Coehl, you are next. - the man announces - Good luck!"

Within five minutes, or little more, of his arrival, Ronan finds him standing on the sand-covered floor of the pit. Before him, stands a purple-skinned Shi'ar man, his feathered crest perked up in excitement.  
Shi'ar and Kree have fought many wars in the past, but he has never had the honour of breaking a feather-head's face himself before.  
It seems that today is his day, he thinks, then the referee gives the sign and the Shi'ar advances confidently, throwing punches and kicks and Ronan has to stop thinking.  
Just as he wanted.


	21. Chapter 21

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains some angst, some mild violence and, finally, some sex (M/F).

For those of you who were expecting a "sandwich", sorry, you'll have to wait a bit more, but it's quite hard to write a threesome without leaving any of the characters hanging - but I am writing it, promise.  
And if it is any consolation, there will be more M-rated stuff in the next chapter next week.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

They kick Yo-laus out of their bed around four. There are at least two more hours before sundown, but they want to clean up and erase all the evidence well before the others arrive. They needed the relief, but that doesn't mean they don't feel guilty about it.  
Yo-laus takes it remarkably well, at least.

"It was good fun, - he says - but you're going to be gone soon anyway, so..." he shrugs as he picks his tunic up from the floor.  
"Do you mind if I use your shower?" he asks in the end.  
"'Course not, buddy. - Peter replies - It is the first door on the right." he directs.  
Gamora doesn't have the stomach to do idle conversation with the man, and decides to curl up on the bed. It smells slightly like the Spartoi. They will have to change the bedsheets, and she is going to wash them herself. It would be just plain wrong to make Ronan wash them.

"Hey fellows, why is there a knife on the floor in the corridor?" Yo-laus asks, sticking his head back in.  
"A what!?" Peter asks.  
Gamora is overtaken by a bad feeling and jumps out of bed, naked as she is.

There is indeed a knife on the floor, and it comes from their kitchen.  
A combat dagger would have meant Drax, a penknife Rocket, but this...  
She steps into the kitchen. There is a bag of supplies abandoned on the floor.  
"Oh, no!" she wails, burying her hands in her hair.  
"Hey, Gamora, what...?!" Peter asks, then he sees it too, and curses.  
"He was here... - he exhales, leaning on a cupboard for support - Do you think he has...?" he starts.  
Gamora wishes it wasn't the case, but she suspects it is. She nods.  
Ronan must have seen them, and by the looks of it, he has not taken it well. Guilt, despair and hope mix in her heart: Ronan must feel something for them for him to be upset at seeing them in bed with someone else. There can be no heartbreak, if there is no love.

Peter curses again, hitting the cupboard with his fist.  
"What do we do now? - he asks, sounding lost and desolate - Gods, it's all my fault!" he whispers.  
Yo-laus sticks his head in from the door.  
"Is it alright, fellows? What has happened?" he asks with what looks like sincere concern.  
Oh, nothing, she thinks sarcastically, we have just messed up and big time with the person we love. And all because we couldn't talk. Again.

"Listen, Yo-laus, it would be better if you just left now. - she says instead - And I mean _now_. We have a bit of a problem to solve." she adds.  
The Spartoi gives her a doubtful look, but acquiesces.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." he apologises.  
"Don't, it's not your fault. - she says, stopping him into his tracks - You are a nice man. I regret having to kick you out like this..." she adds.  
"Ah, don't worry. - he minimises - I'll have my stride of pride. It's not a problem. It was nice to know you. And you too, Peter Quill." he adds, turning towards Peter, who is hastily getting dressed.

"What are you doing?" Gamora asks Peter as soon as Yo-laus gets out of the ship.  
"I'm going to look for him and bring him back." he replies, fumbling with his boots.  
"No, you are not." she retorts. His eyes go very wide in perplexity, but she decides to ignore it.  
"I know how to deal with him when his is angry, you don't. Your heart is big and in the right place, but you are rash. You might blurt out the wrong thing.- she continues - I will go. You will stay here in case he comes back on his own." she instructs.  
Peter seems on the verge of protesting, but he immediately closes his mouth and lowers his head.  
"You are right. - he says - I am so upset about this... I don't know how to feel. I want to fix this so badly that I... I might mess it up worse." he admits, and she thinks she sees tears in his eyes.  
"I'll bring him back, I promise." she reassures him, hugging him close.  
She hopes she can. She really does. It would be cruel to lose him now.

Five minutes later, she is dressed and armed, and walking down the streets with purpose and determination.  
While she was getting ready, Peter has called the rest of the team on their comms, but no one has seen Ronan. The stubborn Kree himself is not picking his comm up, obviously. She will have to canvass the streets from first principles. Good thing she is a trained hunter.

Gamora's search strategy is simple. In a similar situation, the responses of a scorned lover fall into a limited set of categories. They can go on a homicidal rampage against the unfaithful loved ones, which luckily wasn't the case, they can remain on location and start shouting and making a scene, a scenario which was also not verified, or they can run away in search of a means to cope with the rejection.

Ronan's response falls clearly in this last case.  
He could be in a pub, going through a bender, or in a brothel, repaying infidelity with infidelity, but neither option seems likely. Ronan doesn't drink, he doesn't even like the taste of alcohol, and, most likely, he is too shy and insecure to approach a sex worker.  
This leaves one main option, and it is the one that is most in agreement with what she knows of his reactions to distress. He has gone to look for a fight, to find respite from his pain in the immediacy of battle.

Now that it is getting late in the afternoon and the market is shutting down for the evening, the streets are getting empty, but when Ronan was fleeing, at least a couple of hours before, it was still in full swing, and the streets in the center of the city were packed.  
She doubts that he would have wanted to be in the middle of the jostling and clamoring, so she takes a street leading towards the periphery.  
He would not have had the clarity of mind to pick an elaborate path, so she continues straight on the main street, until she gets to a run-down, slightly unsavory neighborhood. This is the right place to look for a fight.  
She keeps an eye on the cantinas and bars, looking for signs of recent disturbances, and keeps an ear out for conversations.  
She doesn't have translator implants like Peter, but she knows a bit of Spartoi, and when she overhears two men talking about a "mean blue bastard" who was destroying the opposition in a fighting contest, she immediately accosts them and asks for directions, feigning an interest in betting.

The two men direct her towards a big, loud establishment. A quite drunk crowd of fighting aficionados is milling around the place, drinks in hand, and is packed almost solid around the central pit.  
Gamora slides through the crowd and with a mixture of charm and sharp elbows, manages to conquer herself a place in the front row.

Down in the pit, Ronan is fighting against a huge, green-skinned, warrior-caste Skrull. He is shirtless, bathed in sweat, and his skin is mottled with bruises. He must have been at it for a while.  
The Skrull lands a hit, kicking the breath out of Ronan, and the crowd explodes in a shout of approval, but the Kree is not finished yet, and when his opponent dives in for the KO, he manages to grab the leading hand of the Skrull, and in short order, break his elbow, and then a few ribs and finally his beaky nose.  
The Skrull falls in a heap on the sand-covered floor and Ronan slowly climbs the rickety ladder out of the pit and to the main floor. He is favoring one side, and his hands are bloody from the blows.

Gamora slides away and cuts through the crowd as best as she can.  
She intercepts him as he is sitting down at a table in the corner with a big glass of something pinkish and fruity which doesn't look alcoholic at all.  
He looks not just tired, but hollowed out, as he was on the Dark Aster, and it pains her to see him like that once more.

"Ronan..." she calls as she approaches his table.  
He looks up and his eyes widen a bit when he realises it is her, but then his gaze drops again into the depths of his drink.  
Gamora sits down in front of him and tries unsuccessfully to meet his gaze.  
"Ronan I am sorry... It shouldn't have happened... You shouldn't have seen something like that..." she starts.  
"Don't apologise. - he interrupts her - I have no right to question your behaviour. The ship is yours. You and Star-Lord have every right of bringing home whatever lovers you might fancy." he adds.  
His tone is once more flat, distant and hollow. He is trying to make it sound like it hasn't affected him at all, but she knows him too well to fall for that.  
He is hurting badly and deeply.

"Please, come home... - she pleads, trying to lay a hand over his on the table - I... we can explain." she adds softly, but he withdraws his hands, hiding them under the table.  
"I don't want explanations. It is already awkward and painful enough as it is. - he replies, a bit desperate - I understand. It was not about me, it was about having a third. I made you wait too long, and I lost my chance. I... I have no right to blame you." he says, refusing to look her way.  
"And yet you hurt." Gamora says, pressing her hands together on the table to prevent herself from reaching out for him, even though she wants to hold him close until everything is better.  
It is not the time yet. This time they will talk it through and fix it, because she knows... Now she knows that they all want the same thing, that they just need to have the courage to reach out to make things alright.

"Why?" she insists.  
Now Ronan looks up, a flash of anger in his eyes.  
"Why?! - he exclaims - Why, you ask! This is... this is the bloody tragic irony of fate." he curses.  
"Tell me. - Gamora orders - I am serious, Ronan. You will tell me why, and this is an order." she adds firmly.  
The Kree looks at her with something that looks a bit like awe.  
"I think I know the reason, but I am fed up with guessing and second-guessing. We have been at it for too long, you, me and Peter. - she explains - We have been circling around this for a year or more, and look where it has lead us! I want you to tell me the reason of your pain. Why do you hurt for seeing me and Peter with another?" she asks again.

There is a long, long moment of silence. Ronan's gaze locks with her own, searching, looking for a sign, before it drops back to the table.  
"Because I love you... - he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd - I have loved you two for... oh, it feels like forever. And I want you." he reveals.  
Gamora strives to keep calm, even though her heart is bouncing with joy in her chest. She thinks that there will be more revelations.  
"I had just realised that I needed to tell you, and I was going to. - Ronan continues, his voice rough with impending tears - I went back early to wait for you and tell you, because I didn't want to make you wait any longer... and, Pama have mercy on me, I still want you. I want you even more now, even though I know I can't have you." he confesses, burying his face in his hands.

Gamora uses his moment of distraction to shift from her chair to the bench where he is sitting.  
Obviously, he feels the shift in weight and reacts, taking his hands off his face. This is what she was waiting for, and she pounces him, pressing her lips against his gently but firmly.  
Ronan offers a token resistance, probably more out of surprise than anything else, then melts into the kiss, responding clumsily but enthusiastically.  
He tastes like the fruit juice he was drinking, and blood, and the salt of sweat and tears, and his skin is soft and smooth, like silk wrapped over the hardness of his warrior's body. She could kiss him for hours and he doesn't seem like he wants to stop either.  
Gamora slowly shifts on the bench without breaking the kiss. She climbs in his lap until she is straddling him. He is hard down there too, and she can't help but grind herself against him ever so slightly.  
Ronan moans into the kiss, then breaks it for air.

"I love you... - he says quietly, cupping her face into his hands - And I _need_ you... but I won't be used. I don't want this if it is just about... well, _sex_..." he adds, and how cute it is that he cannot even say the _word_ without blushing? It only makes Gamora want to shag him even more.  
"I know I have no right to make demands of you, but I don't want to be just another man you two have a liaison with. - he continues - It means more than that to me. You mean so much more..."  
"It means more than that for us too... - Gamora replies, giving him another peck on the lips - I love you, Ronan, and I know that Peter does too. We have for a long time..." she reveals.  
"Then why...?!" he asks, surprised and slightly angry again.  
He doesn't need to finish the sentence for Gamora to know what he means.

"To stall for time." she says, feeling guilty and immature, and, dammit, if they had just waited a day more, they would have spared everyone so much heartbreak.  
"We have wanted you for so long... But we wanted to wait for you to be ready. We wanted you to want us too. - she reveals - But after K'soth, we... we were going crazy with need..."  
"Why didn't you tell me? - Ronan asks - Why didn't you say anything?"  
Gamora kisses him again and lays her forehead against his.  
"Because you are our _haaq_, and we have found out how _things_ can go... And we didn't want it to be like _that_. - she says, feeling suddenly shy - We didn't want you to feel like it was your duty. We wanted you to choose freely. To be honest, we didn't quite know how to approach the issue. We rather hoped that you would solve it for us." she confesses.  
"And I hoped that you would solve it for me..." Ronan chimes in, sighing and shaking his head ever so slightly.  
"We ended up using that poor Spartoi as emergency sex relief, and hurting you, all because we couldn't talk... - Gamora comments wryly - I am so sorry... Both of us are..." she whispers.  
"Shhh... don't. - Ronan whispers, holding her close and tentatively petting her hair - I am equally guilty of causing this situation. I should have trusted you and told you months ago." he says.  
"Do you forgive us then?" Gamora asks, leaning back so that she can lock gazes with him. They stay like that for a long moment, silently looking into each other's eyes, then Ronan smiles.  
"Yes, I do. I love you too much to waste more time with heartbreak. I am yours, for as long as you might want me." he declares and kisses her, soft and tentative.  
"And I am yours too." Gamora responds, and suddenly they are back to kissing passionately, devouring each other's lips, and her hands slide all over his exposed skin and he shivers and, gods, she cannot get enough of him, and his hands are on her too, finally, touching, holding, exploring... She grinds herself on him again, tasting the sound of his whimpers, and suddenly someone clears his throat quite loudly next to them.

They both startle and turn, ready to attack or defend themselves. It is only the manager though.  
"Listen up, people, I'm not a prude, but you'd better get a room somewhere, for everyone's sake. - he declares with a wicked grin - I guess you're no longer interested in another match, are you, fellow?" he adds, addressing Ronan.  
"I... I respectfully decline." the Kree says, his cheeks indigo with embarrassment.  
The manager chuckles. "The girlfriend came to pick you up?" he asks, winking.  
Ronan hesitates and looks at her as if asking for permission. Gamora smiles and winks.  
"It would seem so." Ronan declares with a shy smile, and if the manager hadn't been looking at them like a creep, Gamora would have started snogging the breath out of him all over again.

The manager chuckles and places a wad of credits on the table.  
"That's yours, for your victories. - he tells Ronan, continuing to ignore her - It's a bit less than it should be, 'cause after a while they stopped betting against you, but still enough to buy your girl some trinket. Have fun, lover boy!" he salutes, and walks away with a laugh.  
Gamora considers going after him and boxing him in the face for treating her like decoration, but ultimately decides it is not worth the effort.  
"We should get going." she says instead, sliding off Ronan's lap.  
He sighs and stands too, picking up his top and the money.  
"Right, the others will be worried." he comments.

The streets are packed again, when they leave. Eateries and bars are filling up with the early night crowd. It looks like the Spartoi love to party.  
"This is not the way back to the Milano!" Ronan protests after a short while.  
"No, it is not. - she confirms, scanning the street for what she has in mind - By now, Rocket, Drax and Groot will already be back to the ship." she adds, almost as a non-sequitur.  
"Ah, there we go!" she exclaims soon after, having found what looks like the perfect place.  
"A guest house?!" Ronan says, sounding surprised.  
Gamora nods. "What you need now is a shower, some patching up and some _privacy_..." she replies, whispering the last bit in his ear.  
"You don't want Rocket or Groot to overhear, do you?" she continues, and he actually shivers a bit at the implications of her words.  
"And what about Peter?" he asks as a token protest.  
"We'll phone him and tell him to meet us here." she replies, and she can see his resistance crumble.

They pay for a double room with the cash from Ronan's fights.  
If the concierge finds something amiss, she doesn't say anything impolite, at least, and shows them an airy, clean room at the second floor, with a decent-sized bathroom fitted with a shower, and a big, soft-looking, crisply made bed. Gamora and Ronan look at it and then at each other. They know it won't last long in that pristine state.

As soon as the woman leaves, closing the door behind her, Gamora kisses Ronan once more, hard and passionate.  
"Shouldn't we call Peter...?" he asks breathlessly, taking a small break. His hands have found their way under her top, warm and strong and yet so gentle...  
"Should we? - she asks, nibbling at his jaw - But he has had you all for himself for the whole night on K'soth..." she protests, but ultimately acquiesces.  
They phone him, telling him the good news. He is totally over the moon with them, but apparently someone had been trying to kidnap Groot or at least that's what Rocket says, so Rocket is at the police station for excess of self defense, and Peter will have to bail him out. He says he'll be there as soon as he can, but it might be a few hours.

"I suppose we'll have to make do, in the meantime..." Gamora proposes, leaning into Ronan.  
"I suppose you have a contingency plan ready..." he comments with interest.  
Gamora smiles and takes off her top in one fluid motion, standing bare from the waist up.  
The awed expression on the Kree's face is simply priceless.  
"I do, but you can, and should, actually, say no if you are not comfortable with anything, alright?" she instructs.  
Ronan blinks, trying to parse the information in the face of such an obvious distraction, and finally nods.  
"What's the plan?" he asks in a whisper, running his hands along her sides and back, following the lines of her implants.  
"We get our clothes off and have a nice shower together... - she replies, also whispering, and pausing to gasp when he finds a particularly sensitive spot - Then I take care of your injuries, and then of the rest of you..." she concludes, cupping his groin with her hand.  
He hisses in pleasure, and bucks, and in a moment the rest of his clothes are on the floor and he is naked and ready for her, and she cannot help but admire him, because he is undeniably beautiful, all long limbs, lean muscle, and soft, slightly veiny blue skin, tinged with a deeper blue where the blood flows closer to the surface along his proud, erect manhood.  
She cannot help but tease it with feather-light fingers and he nearly crumbles to his knees.  
So sensitive, so responsive...  
She needs to remember that it is his first time.  
She will be gentle. She will show him how good it can be, how good it _will_ be from now on.

Her clothes also hit the floor, and she can feel his gaze roam all over her. He says something in Kree that she doesn't quite understand, but the tone is enough to fill her heart with so much joy that it aches a bit.  
"I love you..." she whispers, and leads him by the hand to the bathroom and then into the shower.

They stand under the warm water, caressing each other gently and lovingly.  
They are naked but there is nothing overtly sexual as she lathers the traces of sweat and blood off his skin, or as he washes her hair, gently massaging her scalp. Their hands roam all over each other, but they are not making love to each other, not exactly. It feels more like a ritual, as if by doing that they are cleansing each other of all guilt and wrongs, in preparation for a new start.  
It feels solemn and important, almost sacred, and that solemnity carries over when they leave the confines of the shower, and go back to the room to dry off, so that when she applies bruise salve on his injuries, it seems as if she is anointing him for some ceremony, and it is fitting somehow, because love should be sacred and together they are celebrating it, and celebrating life.

And then finally Ronan takes the jar of salve out of her hands, puts it onto the bedside table and presses her to the bed.  
He touches and kisses her everywhere he can reach, and Gamora is almost tempted to let him try out whatever he has in mind, but ultimately she wraps her legs around his waist and flips them over, gently forcing him on his back.  
She lays next to him on the bed and kisses him softly as she runs her hand down his body and wraps it around his cock, stroking it over and over.  
Oh, the noises he makes! And how he trembles and twitches under her, whispering praise and encouragement, telling her that he loves her and pleading "Please, more!".  
Gamora feels herself getting wet and ready just by watching and hearing his reactions, until she is whimpering too, in need, and it is so great that it is driving her mad.

"Do you want me?" she whispers, her voice rough with desire.  
Ronan nods convulsively. "Yes! Please! Take me!" he begs.  
Gamora immediately obliges, straddling his waist and slowly, painstakingly lowering herself on him.  
He is big, and she has had almost no preparation, so it is a bit slow going, but it is worth it for all the small, helpless sounds he is making and the awe on his face, and finally she manages to take him in to the hilt and starts riding him slowly and gently, but there is no need for haste, no need for force.  
She can _feel_ him deep inside her, nudging all the right places at every movement of her hips, and her pleasure is rising little by little, and below her he is nearly twisting in bed with delight, and from his lips pours a torrent of moans and gasps and words of love, and as he gets closer he loses his Trader's and the liquid syllables of High Kree resonate into her ears and it sounds beautiful, like poetry.

"I am... close..." he rasps between moans, and Gamora smiles and nods, because she is close too. She changes the angle of her hips and when she moves again, sparks of bliss start coursing through her veins.  
She watches his expression turn into one of ecstasy as she brings him to his peak for the first time in his life. His eyes screw shut and he arches off the bed as he roars and gasps his pleasure, and her last coherent thought before she loses herself too is that he is so very beautiful, and she will never be able to get enough of him.

Bliss overtakes her in turn, and when they both come down from it and lay entwined on the now-messy bed, whispering sweet nothings as they slip into the darkness of sleep, she feels blessed, so incredibly lucky that they have managed to fix what was broken in their lives and get there, where they are now.  
The only thing that could make it more perfect would be to have Peter there with them, but he will be, and they can wait a bit more.

Everything will be as it should.


	22. Chapter 22

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains some politics, some mentions of sexism and some mild intolerance towards unconventional relationships, but mostly sex (M/M).

In response to reviews:

Dear YellowWomanOnTheBrink, I am sorry to disappoint you, but this story was supposed to be smutty from the get go. It just took me a lot of time to get there. There is smut in this chapter, but there is not going to be any for a good while after it (and then there is going to be quite a bit more, if you're patient).

The threesome has been written, but there is a lot of plot to get through before we get there.

In the meantime, plot-wise, I am using some elements of comic-canon about Peter's parentage. IDK what the director and the screenwriters are going to go with, but this suited me better.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

Gamora's comm goes off in the middle of the night, chiming and chirping like a confused bird.  
Ronan is closer to the bedside table. He picks it up.  
"Who is speaking?" he rasps, trying not to sound like he has just woken up, in case it is a client, but failing miserably.  
"It's me, Peter. - Star-Lord replies from the other side - I'm outside the guest house, but the concierge won't let me in. Can you pick me up?" he asks.  
"I'll be there in a minute." Ronan declares.  
Gamora mutters something, half-asleep, and then briefly surfaces to consciousness.  
"It was Star-Lord. - Ronan says, petting her hair gently - I'll be back soon." he adds, disentangling himself from her when she acquiesces.  
The Kree slips on his trousers and boots and picks up the key to the room, then slips downstairs, ignoring the pointed look the concierge, an old man this time, gives him for walking around shirtless.

Outside the air is still quite warm and smells like the flowers of the trees that line the street, sweet and fruity, a little bit cloying.  
Star-Lord is standing under one of those trees. He looks tired, but his face lights up when he sees the Kree approach him.  
A flower drops from the plant onto his head, making him look tremendously cute. Ronan closes the distance and stoops slightly to kiss him. He doesn't care if someone sees them as they embrace under the tree, reassuring each other that it is indeed real.

"Gamora is waiting for us upstairs..." he says when they break the kiss. He feels light-headed from the sheer bliss of being there in Star-Lord's arms openly, without subterfuge.  
"We shouldn't keep her waiting." the Terran acquiesces, kissing him again.  
"Gods, I can't believe this is real. - he whispers then - It is real, isn't it?" he asks, only half-joking.  
"It is. - Ronan reassures him - I love you." he adds, because it is true and he has been burning with the need to say it for far too long.  
"I love you too, bluebell. Kind of ever since I stopped wanting to shoot you in the face..." Star-Lord confesses with a lopsided grin, then yawns. He looks quite exhausted.  
"We've been waiting long enough, then. - Ronan retorts, grinning too - Come, let's get you into bed." he proposes.

Star-Lord takes his hand and walks at his side without protest, and thankfully the concierge is so flabbergasted that he doesn't even try to stop them, and finally they are all together, as it was supposed to be.  
Gamora is still asleep and the two of them try to make the least possible amount of noise as they strip.

Ronan, who was already half-naked to begin with, takes considerably less time than the Terran to finish, so he waits for Star-Lord sitting on the bed and unashamedly looks at him as he struggles with his clothes.  
He is as beautiful as Ronan remembers from the bathroom invasion and the beach, possibly more, because this time he is not distracted by guilt or shame as he lets his gaze roam all over him.  
He doesn't have to hide, he doesn't have to pretend that it doesn't affect him.  
The light of the summer moon that filters from the window makes Star-Lord look like he is made of pale light and soft shadows and... it is too perfect for words.

Star-Lord leaves his clothes in a heap on the floor and joins him on the bed. His hands cup Ronan's face tenderly and he kisses him once more, pressing himself against the Kree as much as possible.  
Warm, so warm...  
Ronan finds himself moaning into the kiss and running his hands all over Star-Lord, trying to take in more of that warmth.  
They have both grown half-hard just from that, but Ronan for himself doesn't really feel like having sex. He'd rather just lie on the bed as close as possible to the people he loves and just bask in the closeness.

"Let's get some sleep..." Star-Lord proposes softly. He looks radiant, but tired to the bone at the same time.  
Ronan acquiesces and they both crawl under the sheets.  
Gamora half-wakes again, welcoming them in, and after a bit of negotiations and turning around awkwardly, they settle down.  
Gamora is curled in Star-Lord's arms, facing him, and he is spooning against the Terran's back, an arm flung around his waist, so that he is touching Gamora too. He is surrounded by the warmth and the touch of the people he loves, and there is nothing more relaxing.  
When sleep takes him, he doesn't try to fight it. He knows he has nothing to fear from nightmares while he is with them.

Ronan wakes up with the sun a few hours later, perfectly happy and restored.  
The change in the light makes Gamora stir and in a matter of minutes, she seems wide awake.  
Only Star-Lord is still fast asleep, and doesn't even twitch when Gamora leans nearly on top of him to kiss Ronan good morning.

"He is even cuter when he is asleep, don't you think?" she whispers, looking down at the sleeping Terran.  
Ronan acquiesces.  
He gently ruffles Star-Lord's curls, peripherally noting the difference in texture between his and Gamora's hair, but the most reaction he gets is a mumbled "G'way!".

Gamora chuckles. "Peter is not a morning person. You'll have to get used to it." she advises playfully, then slides off the bed, totally nude and unashamed.  
"Come on, let's get breakfast sorted and give him a bit more time to wake." she proposes, bending at the waist to grab her clothes from the floor. Ronan stops in his tracks for a moment, lost in contemplation of her, but even if he is basically staring, she doesn't seem to mind. Upon the contrary, she smiles and bends even lower, giving him a tantalising glimpse of her womanhood.  
Ronan curses under his breath and looks away, feeling like his cheeks are burning. When he looks back her way, she has covered herself already. It's a bit of a pity.

"Don't worry, there will be more of this later, but I'm starving now. - Gamora reassures him - Aren't you hungry too?" she asks.  
"Yes, I am, actually." Ronan replies after a brief hesitation. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before, apart from a slice of vegetable pie he has bought at the market.  
"Let's go then. - Gamora exhorts him - You'll se how he'll wake up as soon as he smells the food..." she adds, nodding towards the still-sleeping Star-Lord.

They finish getting dressed and go downstairs, where the landlady is waiting for them with a big scowl on her face.  
"My husband told me that you brought a third guest in, last night." she accuses.  
"It is true, it was our boyfriend. - Gamora replies confrontationally - When we took the room we told you that there were going to be three of us." she adds, crossing her arms on her chest.  
The woman scowls even deeper and mutters something under her breath.  
Ronan has the distinct impression that she is passing judgement on their romantic arrangements. He doesn't like the idea.

"You told me no such thing. - the landlady insists - If you had told me, I would have written it down in the register! And I would have charged you more, rest assured!" she declares, listing extra costs like a sojourn tax, an extra charge per person, and an extra breakfast. Ronan is quite sure that hidden somewhere in there lays also a "morality tax" that the woman is charging on top of everything because their newfound three-way relationship doesn't conform to her moral standards.

Quite fed up with her whinging, Ronan grabs the rest of the cash from his winnings, counts out a more than decent amount of money, surely more than what the extra costs might amount to, and shoves it into the woman's hands.  
"This should cover all your costs and inconveniences. - he declares stiffly - Now we would like some breakfast, if you please." he adds, and the woman has no other choice than to show them into a small room to one side of the entrance, where a breakfast buffet has been laid out.  
They pick up a pair of trays and grab coffee for everyone, some fruit and some other items of food that they cannot readily identify, small, sticky biscuits, pastry and other things, and go back to their room.

True to Gamora's word, Star-Lord starts to stir as soon as the smell of food hits him.  
"You brought coffee... " he says, still sleepy, as he stretches lazily, giving them a good view of his nicely defined torso  
"You know I love you, right?" he adds with a grin.  
He slips his trousers on without bothering with underwear and pads to the small table where Ronan and Gamora have laid out their catch.  
"This is the best wake-up call ever." he sighs contentedly, letting himself fall into the chair.

They eat their breakfast chatting and laughing and drinking horrible coffee.  
"Does anyone mind if I look for some music channel on that?" Star-Lord asks after a while, pointing at the AV comm-set attached to the wall.  
"Not at all." Gamora replies. Ronan acquiesces in turn, and Star-Lord swiftly grabs the remote and starts surfing.  
They pass lots of sit-coms and sports, then a few news channels.  
"Hey, stop there!" Ronan exclaims at a certain point, thinking he has seen something.  
"Where, here?" Star-Lord asks, confused. He has gone one channel too far and has now stopped on a Skrull smashball match. It looks slightly gruesome.

"No, go back one channel. - Ronan instructs - There!" he exclaims.  
For a moment Star-Lord just blinks at the screen, uncomprehending, then the pieces of the puzzle click into place.  
"Jeez! That's the woman who fooled We'al!" he exclaims.  
Ronan nods. "Let me introduce to you Princess Helenai, heir to the throne of Spartax." he announces.  
"Damn!" Star-Lord exclaims, looking surprised and not in a good way.  
Gamora looks at her with close interest.  
"She is good-looking. - she says - Another jilted lover out for your blood?" she asks nonchalantly.  
"No! I've never seen her before in my life, and I mean, I'm sure I'd remember if I had... - Star-Lord protests - The highest nobility I have ever bedded was the duchess of Gramosia!" he adds as an explanation.

The images on the comm switch from Helenai to an older man, with a leonine mane of burnished golden curls, a trimmed beard and blue, blue eyes set in a handsome face.  
"Pama damn me for a fool!" Ronan exclaims, because he has just had an intuition, and if his hunch is correct, things might get very, very complicated.  
"What's wrong?!" Star-Lord and Gamora exclaim in almost perfect unison.

"Star-Lord, you said your father was an alien, didn't you?" Ronan asks, thinking furiously and trying to recall what exactly he had studied at the Academy about the Spartoi royal family.  
"Yeah, that's what my mum always said. He came from space, and then went back again and left me as a present to her. - he narrates - And then the Xandarians confirmed that I have non-Terran DNA. So what?"  
"And your full name is Peter Jason Quill, right?" Ronan continues.  
"Yeah, but..." Star-Lord retorts, but the Kree doesn't let him finish.  
"That is Emperor J'son of Spartax. - he says, pointing at the screen - Does he remind you of someone?" he teases.

Star-Lord stares at the man on the screen for a long moment, then his hands go to his own face, touching, checking, because it is hard to believe.  
"He looks a lot like you, Peter..." Gamora comments, quite shaken.

"You're kidding me, right? - Star-Lord explodes, turning towards Ronan - You are not really telling me that... that guy is my dad?!" he adds.  
"We cannot be certain without a proper forensic test, of course, but the timing seems quite right." Ronan replies, using the calm, reasonable tone that his teachers at the Academy had drilled into him as the best to deal with panicky victims or witnesses.  
"If I remember correctly, prince J'son was involved in some sort of court scandal and exiled from Spartax some thirty, thirty-five years ago. - he continues - He disappeared for a while, no one could figure out where he was, then suddenly reappeared on Spartax about a year after, cleared his name and was reinstated as heir to the throne. How old are you, Star-Lord?" he asks.  
"I... thirty-three." the Terran replies.  
"Right, so about thirty-odd years ago, this man vanishes, disappears from the face of the Universe, and almost straight afterwards you are born on an isolated, backwater planet from an allegedly alien father. - Ronan sums up - The likenness is quite impressive, I must say..." he comments, glancing back at the screen, where the Emperor is still doing some sort of proclaim. J'son looks obviously older, and also harsher and grimmer, but anyone who saw them together would immediately peg them for father and son.

"Do you really think that I am... A prince? Me?" Star-Lord protests, pointing at his chest.  
"I'd say that the probabilities are in your favour. And even if you are not, you are still a credible decoy. - Ronan replies - That explains why princess Helenai is after your blood." he concludes.  
"It doesn't to me. - Gamora intervenes - Even if this was true, Peter is still illegitimate, he can't have a very strong claim on the throne." she objects.  
"Actually, he might. - Ronan replies - Spartoi society is very male-dominated, but J'son has no living sons, that he knows of, so Helenai will eventually be the first Emperess ever to sit on the throne of Spartax. Many oppose this and her marriage to Gladiator of Shi'ar. "  
"I bet the chauvinists think that, since he is a man, he'll rule in her place." Gamora huffs.  
"Precisely. - Ronan confirms - So you understand that if any male heir showed up in these circumstances, he would have the support of large swathes of population and might destabilise the whole Empire, plunging it into civil war."  
"And Peter is not just anyone. - Gamora chimes in - You are a war hero, the saviour of Xandar..." she tells Star-Lord.

"This is so not helping, love! - Star-Lord protests - I get it, I am a menace to her claim, and she would very much like to do the whole "Man in the Iron Mask" gig on me, even if I have no interest in reigning or ruling or whatever. So, what do we do now?" he asks.  
Ronan frowns at the strange cultural reference, but it doesn't seem the right time and place to ask for explanations.  
"I am not sure. Maybe you should contact her, somehow, and explain her the situation. - he proposes - Maybe even agree to support her in public... yes, that might solve it." he adds.

"That's not a bad plan! And it didn't involve smashing any heads! You're getting better!" Star-Lord teases, trying to defuse the tension. Ronan sighs and rolls his eyes. The jokes about smashed heads and big hammers are starting to grow old.

"I know it's a bit indelicate to mention him, but the guy we were banging yesterday, didn't he work at the palace?" Star-Lord asks Gamora.  
She nods. "He is some sort of secretary. - she replies - I'll see if he can help us." she offers, and stands to leave.  
"You're going now?" Star-Lord asks.  
Gamora nods, checking her weapons.  
"I'll swing by the Milano first and tell the guys to stay put. - she replies - Then I'll find Yo-laus."  
"Well, wait, we are coming with you." both Ronan and Star-Lord protest.  
"You are not. - the assassin retorts - The room is paid for until midday. Stay put. Enjoy this while you can." she instructs.  
Ronan and Star-Lord exchange a rapid, embarassed glance. It's not like they wouldn't want to, but...

"I am talking seriously, guys. In the off-chance that Helenai's people have already got wind that we are here, the first place they will look for you is the Milano. - she explains - Here, you are less likely to be found, and Ronan will watch your back while I am away." she adds, turning to Star-Lord.  
If she leaves them there alone, the Terran's back won't be the only thing he'll be watching, Ronan thinks, stifling an inappropriate giggle.

"Do you want us to move to another bolt-hole after twelve?" he asks instead, hanging to his focus for dear life.  
"Have you still got any cash left?" Gamora asks.  
Ronan nods. "Enough for a couple of days in a decent place. - he replies, patting the wad of cash in his pocket - Longer in a dump."  
"I have some cash too. Non-traceable, from the last job." Star-Lord adds.  
Gamora thinks about it for a moment.

"I'll try to get a meeting first, then we'll figure out what to do next. - she decides ultimately - Let's keep comm contact in case things go south. I'll call you around twelve. Call me and make a run for it if you see anything suspicious, alright?" she instructs.  
"We can take care of ourselves." Star-Lord protests.  
Gamora kisses him long and hard, then does the same to Ronan, silencing their protests.  
"I know. - she says - But I don't want to lose you. I want us to have lots and lots more mornings like this..." she adds.  
"We'll take care, you have my word." Ronan promises, taking her into his arms for a brief moment.  
"I know. I trust you two. - she declares - I'd better go." she adds in a moment and then, with one last brief kiss, disappears out of the room.

"We're stranded, bluebell..." Star-Lord comments after a moment.  
"Her plan _is_ sensible." Ronan points out.  
"I know... it's just. Well, I don't want her to be in danger. - the Terran retorts - And I am not very good at waiting either. What should we do now?" he asks, giving him a sidelong glance.  
"I don't know. - Ronan replies, seeing the bait but deciding to tease Star-Lord, instead - Watch some more CommVid?" he proposes, struggling to keep his face straight.  
Star-Lord's dejected expression is priceless, and he can't help but start laughing heartily.

"You were kidding me!" Star-Lord exclaims, indignant.  
"And you fell for it." Ronan comments smugly.  
Star-Lord pounces. The chair clatters to the ground and they both end up on the floor, kissing like they can't get enough of each other.  
Ronan is lying on his back and Star-Lord climbs on top of him. He can feel his hardness pressed against him once more, and this time he knows that they won't have to stop.

"What do you really want to do, bluebell?" Star-Lord rasps as he grinds his own hardness against Ronan's.  
"I want to get rid of these bloody clothes. I want to feel you..." the Kree replies, a tiny bit desperate already.  
Star-Lord smiles and grinds himself harder, making him groan in pleasure.  
"And then?" he whispers, mouthing his partner's neck.  
"And then I want to lay in that bed with you..." Ronan continues.  
It is not shame that makes him reticent, is that it is already feeling so good... he wants to make it last. Plus Star-Lord is getting quite desperate himself, and he likes the idea.

The Terran bites his neck, however, and again he feels that mixture of pleasure and pain and loss of control... it gets to him, sending flashes of delight deep into him.  
He cries out. Suddenly playing with Star-Lord doesn't seem as attractive as just submitting would be.

"And then what, bluebell?" Star-Lord insists, grinding against him.  
Ronan has a short flashback to when he saw him and Gamora and with that man. He recalls how Star-Lord was thrusting into him, and how much the man seemed to enjoy it, and a shiver of delight courses through him.  
He wants that. He _needs_ it.

"And then I want you to take me... - he gasps - Like... like you were doing with that man..." he adds, hoping that it is not too vague, and that Star-Lord won't make him spell it out.  
He knows the technical terms, but he is reluctant to say them, not because he is ashamed of what he wants, far from it, but because they sound so very _vulgar_ for something so heavenly.  
"Please..." he adds in a whimper.

Star-Lord curses under his breath and slips his hands under the Kree's hoodie and shirt, frantically trying to bunch them up and tug them off.  
Ronan manges to partially sit up and help him, wriggling free of his clothes and letting them fall to the floor.  
Star-Lord presses himself as close as he can to him, drowning him in warmth.  
Somehow they manage to stand, even as they try to tug each other's trousers off, and when the Terran backs him towards the bed he does not resist.

They end up on the bed, naked, without quite knowing how they got there.  
Everything is confused in a haze of wonderful sensations, of warmth and closeness, of kisses and tentative touches. Well, not so tentative from Star-Lord's part...  
The Terran seems to know all the spots that make him gasp and shudder, and uses them to perfection, driving him closer and closer to begging for more.

He is going to say the words when Star-Lord's hand finally wraps around his cock, starting to stroke him.  
His hands are bigger and rougher than Gamora's and his touch is harder, more demanding and he absolutely loves it.

His own hands slide down Star-Lord's body, pausing just before their target. Ronan manages a moment of lucidity and looks at Star-Lord's face, a question on his lips.  
"Yes, please!" Star-Lord exclaims, before he can even speak up.  
His face is flushed red and his eyes are darkened with desire. He is the most beautiful thing that Ronan has ever seen.

He lets his hands slide the last bit and the sound the Terran makes when he starts exploring him nearly makes him spill himself on the spot.  
Hanging to self-control for dear life, he forces himself to breathe evenly and focus on what he is feeling under his fingertips, on the contrast between the flushed, silken skin and the steely hardness underneath, on the fascinating discovery of the nest of coarse dark golden curls growing around the base of the Terran's cock.  
Tentatively, he starts to mimic what Star-Lord is doing to him and he can feel his parter start to falter and halt. He must be doing it right, he thinks smugly.

And then Star-Lord slaps his manhood from side to side with his open palm and he nearly blacks out from the sheer intensity of the sensation. His hands fly to the Terran's shoulders for support. He needs something solid to hold on to, or he'll fall apart.  
"Good?" Star-Lord growls into his ear.  
Ronan can hardly speak, but he nods frantically.  
"Want more?" the Terran asks, his tone sultry and assured. Ronan pulls him into a breathless kiss, tangling his fingers into his hair.  
"Please, Star-Lord! Please!" he says, peppering his jaw and neck with kisses and gentle nips, but the only result he gets is to make him pull back with a slight frown.  
"My name is Peter. Say it." he orders.  
Ronan blinks, trying to clear his head just a fraction.  
"Peter..." he whispers, rolling his name on his tongue as if he is trying to taste it.  
Star-Lord, no, _Peter_ smiles gently.  
"And then...?" he suggests encouragingly.  
"Please, Peter..." Ronan tries again, tentatively.  
Another pleased smile.  
"This is more like it." Peter purrs and suddenly, without warning, his hand moves and slaps him even harder than before.

Ronan cries out and Peter does it again, and again and again.  
He loses count of how many times, lost in the feeling, in that undescribable mix of sharp pleasure and subtle pain. It sings through his veins and spills from his lips in desperate cries and pleas. He knows he is babbling in the most undignified manner, cursing, and begging, and professing his love, but he can't control it, and to be honest, he wouldn't want to even if he could.

When Peter stops, he is shuddering uncontrollably. His fingers must have left bruises where they were gripping the Terran's shoulders, but he doesn't seem to care.  
"You are amazing..." Peter whispers, gently petting him and helping him calm down at least a bit.  
He leans out towards the floor at the side of the bed, where is jacket is lying, and quickly rummages in its pockets.  
When he leans back into the Kree's arms there is a small bottle of some viscous liquid in his hands. Ronan knows what it means, and feels himself squirming in delight at the perspective.

Peter looks at him questioningly and this time it is his turn to say yes before he can even speak.  
"Turn around for me then." Peter whispers.  
Ronan obliges immediately, turning onto his front and spreading his legs. He can feel no shame for that, only anticipation.

Peter's hands caress and knead his back and sides, prolonging the wait. His fingers travel down the length of his back, sending shivers through him then leave his skin, only to reappear at his ankles. They trace upwards slowly, so very slowly, making him squirm in delight and impatience, until, finally, they reach the cleft between his buttocks, gliding there with the gentlest touch. Ronan bites back a curse nonetheless.

He hears a chuckle at his back and then Peter grabs a handful of his ass with each hand and spreads him further. Something wet and squirming probes against his entrance. It feels strange and heavenly and he bites his lip and balls his hands into the bedsheets to prevent himself from reacting too strongly to it. He wants it to last, but he can't help the way his back arches and the strangled moan that escapes him. It is too good.

His eyes are closed and his face is pressed into the bed. He doesn't dare turning to look, but he feels when something cool and oily starts dripping onto his cleft and down to his balls. Clever fingers start to rub the oil into his skin, massaging and pressing _there_, more and more insistent, and he can barely restrain himself from pressing back into his touch. This is not just about him, and if his partner wants to take his time, because maybe he is enjoying himself doing those things to him, then he'll wait. He has waited so very long for this, he can give Peter a few minutes more, he tells himself.

Finally Peter's finger breaches him.  
It burns slightly, not quite with pain but almost there, and at the same time it feels better than almost anything he's ever felt before, and when he forces himself to relax around the intrusion, the discomfort fades almost immediately, leaving only pleasure in its wake.

"Oh, __mery__! - he exclaims, starting to revert to High Kree - It feels..."  
"You've seen nothing yet, bluebell..." Peter purrs, slipping another finger in.  
It is sudden and Ronan feels himself tensing up once more, and the pain returns, making him instinctively try to pull away with a hiss.

"Sorry... I'm sorry..." Peter whispers, distracting him by planting sweet, soft kisses along his spine.  
His free hand slips down, to tease his inner tighs and then reaches around his body, to stroke him gently in time with the pull and push of his fingers inside him. Under that double onslaught, he cannot tell what feels better. The only thing he knows is that he cannot get enough of it, he wants more and desperately try to find some leverage to push back against his partner, but Peter is all but lying on top of him... and then suddenly he is not and Ronan can rise to his hands and knees and help Peter take him apart.

Nimble fingers stretch him, scissoring and curling inside him, hitting one spot that makes stars appear under his closed eyelids and he is moaning with every touch, dignity all but forgotten, so lost in the feeling that when Peter slips a third finger in, he doesn't feel any pain. He just wants it, he wants him.

"Pama have mercy, Peter! Do it! Just do it! Please..." he exclaims. He promised to himself that he would wait, but he can't wait any longer. He is already close and he wants to come with Peter inside him.  
"I love to hear you say please..." the Terran purrs and curls his fingers once more, making him gasp in delight once more before withdrawing.  
Ronan hears the bottle of oil being uncorked again and this time he turns, just in time to watch Peter apply more oil to his manhood with slow, lazy strokes.  
A short, whispered prayer escapes his lips, because, damn, for all the mistakes he made, he knows doesn't deserve this, but he is so very grateful for having it, for having Peter, and Gamora, for having a second chance at love and friendship.

Peter lines up his hips with Ronan's and starts to press in, and it becomes incredibly hard to think straight.  
It catches a bit on the way in, and it burns uncomfortably, but Ronan bites his lip to prevent himself from making noise and holds out, willing himself not to fight against it, but just to breathe, in and out, in and out... Gradually the discomfort vanishes and Peter slips inside him fully, scalding hot, and thick, and throbbing. He feels stretched to the limit, and it feels amazingly intimate and intense.

"Gods, I've wanted this for so long..." Peter sighs, pressing his forehead against the Kree's shoulders.  
Ronan turns his head and twists, and, somehow, they end up kissing. The shift in position presses Peter's cock against some hidden place inside him and he can't help but whimper into the kiss.  
"Move! Please, move for me, Peter..." he gasps, pleasure coursing through his veins like the headiest battle-rush.  
"Oh, gods!" Peter growls, and pulls out almost completely before thrusting back in hard, his hands scrabbling on the Kree's hip and shoulder to keep that sharp, delightful angle.  
Ronan cries out, over and over in time with his hard, unforgiving thrusts, lost to anything that is not Peter, the weight of him at his back, his gasping breaths, his warmth.

"I love you, Peter Quill... - he gasps, balling his fists in the bedsheets so hard that he fears he is going to tear them - You make me feel... oh, Pama! you make me feel alive..." he says through gritted teeth as the Terran's hand reaches for his cock again. Sex definitely loosens his tongue, but like Gamora the night before, Peter doesn't seem to mind. If anything, his thrusts become harder and more frantic.  
Probably he'll have some trouble sitting down later, but he finds the idea not troubling at all. He likes carrying Peter's marks on himself.

"I am yours... - he gasps - Oh, Peter, I'm so close..." he confesses, feeling something shift inside him.  
Peter growls and pulls away, leaving him gasping and trembling, bereft of his warmth. He can be a cruel master, Ronan thinks for a moment.

"Turn! - Peter orders - On your back!" he says, pushing the Kree to the bed so that he is looking up at him.  
They kiss again, almost trying to devour each other, and Ronan feels that Peter is trembling too from how close he is to his own peak.  
"Why did you stop?" he asks between kisses.  
"Because I want to watch you as you fall apart..." the Terran replies, lining himself up once more and sinking into him to the hilt in one smooth, powerful push.  
Ronan arches on the bed and wraps his legs around Peter's waist. His mouth falls open, but he is too breathless to even cry out.  
"Oh, it's so good... __mery__, I..." he gasps when Peter relents and he regains some breath, but the respite was illusory. His partner has stopped just to lift his legs over his shoulders, making the angle even sharper, and when he starts thrusting again Ronan knows that this will be it. He has no chance of resisting.  
"I'm not going to last a moment, like this..." he manages to warn.  
"Don't fight it... - Peter grunts, pausing for breath - Just let go. I'll be right behind you..." he promises, and there is so much heat, and so much love in his words and on his face...  
Peter starts moving again, and Ronan can feel his climax approaching like a wave and this time there is no turning back. One thrust, and one more, and it rolls him right over, making him almost black out as his whole body clenches and he spills all over himself.  
Peter roars in pleasure, and he surfaces enough to see him arch, muscles tense all over his frame and head thrown back, as he spills inside him, and he is beautiful, so beautiful... his prince, his master, his best friend... his lover now... his...  
He wishes that there was a way of freezing that moment in time and keeping it intact forever.


	23. Chapter 23

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains some mild mentions of sex (M/M), some language, some bad attempts at humour and some speciesism.

Apart from that, it is quite plot-heavy.

In response to reviews:

Dear Jelsemium, yes, I made Ronan's backstory up.  
Also, sorry if I gave the impression of being against the Xandarians (I am anti-capitalist IRL, though, and they are a capitalist society AFAIK, so I am a bit biased). The whole situation is a lot more complex than it looks, and soon, hopefully, you'll see a different side to the Xandarians (it might take quite a few chapters until then, though).

Dear Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, I don't like comic-verse J'son either, he is a total a-hole. But this is an AU, so I can make him a bit better, doncha think?

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

Later, they lie in each other's arms for who knows how long, trying to catch their breath.  
Ronan can find no words to describe the peace and contentedness that fill him. He lets his fingers slide gently over Peter's sleepy, smiling face, trying to map its every detail and memorise it. Peter closes his eyes and basks into his touch, snuggling closer.

Their breathless quiet doesn't last very long, though. They have been waiting for this for far too long and their first joining has taken off the edge, but by no means extinguished their need, and soon chaste, soft touches become more insistent and daring. They stumble to the shower, to clean up before a second round, and end up having it right there, under the warm spray of water, grinding against each other and stroking each other to completion.

Before they know, it is midday. When they leave the guest house, the landlady glares at them with evident disapproval. Ronan thinks that she will try to charge them some other extra for having made love until late in the morning, but she keeps quiet, expressing her despise with her eyes only.  
Gamora hasn't contacted them yet, so they migrate to a small restaurant under an archway at the margin of the market. After all their... energetic activities, Ronan is feeling quite hungry. They get a flatbread full of meat, vegetables and a strange white-ish spicy sauce each and sit down near the window, watching out for potential trouble.  
Ronan can see that Peter is quite worried about Gamora's delay in contacting them, an to be honest, he is worried too, but still tries to reassure him and distract him.  
"Give her a bit more time, she might be negotiating with that man still." he says, slightly disturbed by the involvement of the stranger. He knows that it is a good strategy and that he has nothing to be jealous about, but still... he just doesn't like the man, even if he doesn't know him.

Peter acquiesces and tries to keep calm, but as another hour passes with no sign of Gamora or any of the others (their comms ring and ring and no one replies), there is no way they can stay put any longer. They have to do something.

They sneak back to the Milano, even if they know that tactically it is not the smartest idea. They have no other option, short of barging into the Imperial Palace and demanding an audience with princess Helenai, which would be even more stupid and suicidal. Ronan curses against his lack of forethought for having left his _labyrs_ on the ship. He has the impression that he will need it. He'll have to make do, he thinks.

In the end, he does not.  
As soon as they arrive at the Milano, they get surrounded by a rather numerous detail of Spartoi security officers armed with plasma rifles, whose CO informs him and Peter that they are under arrest.  
Ronan tenses up for a fight. Their chances are relatively poor, but they would improve if he could just snap the CO's neck and steal his rifle before the rest of them realise the danger. He takes a deep, steadying breath and starts to let himself slip into a _sia_-trance state.  
Peter's fingers slide against the inside of his wrist, startling him out of his concentration.  
"Not now, bluebell... Keep it for later." the Terran whispers in Kree.

"Alright, we surrender. No one needs to get hurt. - he adds in a much louder voice and in Trader's, turning to the guards - If you could just lead us to princess Helenai, I am sure we can fix this in no time." he adds, looking his most honest and helpful. He is a lovable scoundrel, that he is.  
"You are not in the position to make any demands." the CO says, as it was obvious, then barks something in Spartoi to his underlings.  
He and Peter get clapped in irons, which was quite obvious too, and led away, into the darkened rear compartment of a police vehicle.  
"I hope you do have a plan, Peter." Ronan comments quietly.  
"Don't worry, bluebell, I always do." the Terran replies.

The guards shove them in a cell, somewhere in the city, he thinks. He has been paying attention to the twists and turns of the vehicle's progress and to the timings. They are most likely still in Lakedaimon, and not very far from the center of the city. He wishes he had spent more time memorising the city plan. If he had, he'd have a better estimate of their position the darkness of the police vehicle and the hoods they have shoved on their heads to lead them to the cell, even the mild light of the cell blinds him for a moment, adding to his disorientation  
"Hey guys! We thought you'd never come!" a voice greets them with sarcasm. It is Rocket. He never thought he would say it, but he is relieved to hear the Raccoon's voice.  
Something launches itself at him.  
"I am Groot!" the plant-child exclaims in relief, trying to wrap himself around Ronan and Peter at the same time, very nearly making them stumble in his desperate need for reassurance.  
"It's alright, little one. - Peter says softly - We're good."Ronan blinks and manages to look around. Rocket and Groot, Drax, and Gamora, the latter two slightly worse for the wear, but still alive, still whole. They are all there. He feels like slumping to the floor in relief, except that he notices an extra person, sitting in a corner in dejection.  
A Spartoi, with a golden tan and dark hair."What is he doing here, exactly?" Ronan asks, turning towards Gamora.  
"They caught us together. - she replies with a shrug - I think they were keeping him under surveillance after, well..." she explains, waving a hand in lieu of completing the sentence.  
"That is unfortunate." Ronan comments ruefully. That also meant that they had been watching the ship since the day before.  
Thankfully the Spartoi guards didn't follow them to the guest-house. Getting slapped in cell with a man who had lain with his lovers was embarrassing enough, but getting arrested during intimate activities would have been much worse."That is an understatement if I have ever heard one, fellow! - the Spartoi comments - The sex was amazing, but I would have declined if I knew you were terrorists!" he protests.  
"Ah, that's what they are saying! Well, it is not true. - Peter protests - None of us has committed any acts of terrorism in the last year, at least!" he adds.  
"Make it a year an a half." Gamora corrects him.  
"A year, seven months and two days, by the Standard Galactic Calendar." Ronan chimes in, disentangling himself from Groot.  
Rocket guffaws without restraint.  
"You've been counting the days!" he exclaims, between bouts of laughter.  
Ronan blushes and shrugs.  
"I was hoping for an anniversary cake. Not cooked by you, though." he retorts sarcastically.  
"I will cook it, if it is so important for you, comrade." Drax intervenes, obviously missing the sarcasm. He really means it too, and Ronan doesn't feel it in him to correct him.  
"Damn right, Drax! - Peter comments, winking and wrapping an arm around Ronan's shoulders - We should have done that at the proper time. I don't know how we could have forgotten it!" he adds.  
"I think we were a bit busy kicking butts on Gramosia." Rocket offers.  
"I am Groot." Groot interjects. Of course he had remembered. He is a very caring being."You are all crazy! - the Spartoi exclaims - And you are... or were terrorists! Ah, this will teach me to pick up hot _barbaroi_ couples in a tavern!" he laments.  
"Actually, I am the only one who has ever been accused of terrorism." Ronan corrects. Admitting one's fault is the first step to atonement, they say.  
"That's not true. I have been too." Gamora protest.  
"No, not really. - Ronan objects - I have read your rap sheet and it said multiple counts of murder and grievous bodily harm, but no terrorism." he explains.  
Gamora's expression flits between relief and disappointment. "Ah, well, if it is so..." she comments quietly.  
He and Peter sit down on the floor next to her, sandwiching her in between them. That should tell the Spartoi everything he needs to stranger squeals a little, backing away even farther and crossing his arms on his chest.  
"You are nothing but a bunch of criminals!" he accuses.  
"Nah, we're bounty hunters. - Rocket retorts - Seriously guys, did you really pick up this wet blanket?" he adds, turning towards Peter.  
The Terran shrugs, but thankfully does not comment.  
"So when you three disappeared last night, it wasn't to screw like there was no tomorrow?!" Rocket insists, pointing at where he, Ronan and Gamora are sitting.  
Ronan feels like he could die in embarrassment.  
"It must have been, comrade. They have been courting for a while." Drax explains, showing a remarkable amount of insight and making everything much worse all at the same time."So you were also cheating on your boyfriend!" the Spartoi exclaims in disapproval, finishing it off with a string of mutterings in his own language.  
"I wasn't their boyfriend at the time." Ronan feels compelled to add, in an unwarranted attempt to defend Peter and Gamora's virtue.  
"But I bet you are now! - Rocket butts in - You finally got laid! We should have a party, when we get out of here."  
Mortified doesn't quite cover how Ronan is feeling now. Rocket has the knack for saying the wrong thing at the right time and between him and Drax they are making the whole experience a right ordeal."Alright, people! Let's can this for the moment!" Peter instructs, a bit desperate. For once, he looks as embarrassed as Ronan feels.  
"Seriously, this is not the right moment to discuss our sex life!" he continues, and as if on cue, the door to the cell opens, letting in a detail of Spartoi guards. A force-field activates across the cell, hemming them in and providing a nice antechamber for the guards to stand in safely.  
Ronan would bet that it is either designed to block low-speed impacts only or one-way. If the guards decide to shoot them with those plasma rifles, the force-field will not block the bolts. Now he understands how the proverbial fish must feel in that bloody barrel...The guards part in front of the door, and in waltzes none other than princess Helenai, tailed by a tall, purple-skinned Shi'ar man and a graceful Shi'ar girl, prince Gladiator and princess Vesta, no doubt.  
"What are they doing on Spartax?" Ronan muses to himself.  
The Guardians have stopped bickering and are standing, ready to do whatever it takes to get out of there alive. Only the unpleasant Spartoi man is still curled on the newcomers take a long, assessing look at the six of them, and finally princess Vesta speaks.  
"I have to say, good-sister, they don't look so menacing as you told us. - she comments airily - Those two are even rather cute." she adds, waving a hand in Rocket and Groot's direction.  
Groot is obviously delighted by the attention and waves his upper branches in salute with an enthusiastic "I am Groot!", much to Rocket's exasperation.

"Don't let the appearances deceive you, sister. - prince Gladiator interjects - That man is Ronan, formerly Supreme Commander of the Accusers, a man even I wouldn't want to meet in battle, and that is Gamora, one of Thanos' assassins." he points out.

Ronan cannot help but grin at the idea that the proud prince if Shi'ar is scared of him.  
"Hey! I'm dangerous too!" Rocket protests, and Ronan can distinctly hear Peter hit his forehead with his palm.  
"Thanks, Rocket, really!" he hisses."You keep interesting companies, brother." Helenai finally spits, loading the word with as much spite as she can. Her blue eyes, so bright against her dark skin, bore into Peter's face.  
Peter gives her a goofy grin.  
"They drive me around the bend, but at least I never get bored." he replies irreverently.  
"Is that your sister?!" both Rocket and Drax exclaim at the same time.  
Peter nods, much to Helenai's chagrin. "Half-sister. I just figured out this morning. - he explains - Actually, Ronan figured out." he adds with a nod in the Kree's direction.  
"You lie smoothly, half-breed. You claim you didn't know, and yet you are here, on Spartax." she declares haughtily.  
"We wouldn't be here if someone had not sent mercs after my hide. - Peter retorts - I tend to take it personally when people try to kill me." he adds with a hard glint in his eyes."Their mission was not to kill you, but to take you in custody. - she replies with no emotion - Even half-breed, and illegitimate as you are, you could be a threat to my claim and to the peace in this quadrant." she explains disdainfully.  
Ronan feels himself bristle at her words, but Peter lays a hand on his arm and squeezes gently, signalling for him to keep quiet.  
"Gods, I am moved by your brotherly love, sis... - the Terran comments - You are pissing at the wrong tree, though. I can't care less about your throne. I don't want to be king. I would be totally pants at it! I can barely manage our little bounty-hunting outfit!" he explains.  
"That's true. - Rocket intervenes - Him and book-keeping don't agree. Do you remember when we had to ration even the toilet paper for nearly a month because we had run out of money, last year?" he adds cheerfully.  
There is a general murmur. Of course they do. It is likely that they will never be able to forget.  
"Hey! That was a one-off mistake!" Peter protests, and Gladiator look genuinely baffled and quite speechless. Ronan stifles a chuckle. They'd better get used to the feeling.  
Princess Vesta, instead, is giggling quietly and obviously finds the whole situation hilarious.  
"Enough! - Helenai thunders - I don't believe you! You are a thief, a scoundrel, a lowly mercenary..."  
"I might be, but at least I am honest about it, and, what's more, I like my freedom. - Peter chimes in - I want to spend my good-for-nothing life going on adventures, not sitting on an uncomfortable chair looking serious. I just wanted to know who was after my blood. Now I know, and if you agree to leave me the fuck alone, I'll stop inconveniencing you with my lowly presence in no time. We have places to be, asses to kick... You know, lowly mercs-y things..." he explains, but his cheerful façade is starting to gives him a perplexed look.  
"You don't want to claim your heritage?" she asks.  
"Nope. I wouldn't know what to say to our father apart that he was a total asshole to leave my mum alone with a kid in Middle-of-Nowhere, Texas. - he replies - I imagine he was busy being an Emperor and stuff, but he had a frikkin' spaceship, and he knew his way, so he could have at least checked in us from time to time. But no. Not once, not even when my mum was dying of cancer. I suppose he didn't give a shit about us." he says sharply.  
Ronan discreetly lays a hand on the small of his back and Gamora presses closer too. Consciously or not, all the Guardians are closing in around Peter, showing him their support. They know that this is Peter's weak spot and those people have managed to hit hard and unapologetically."It is fair enough, because I don't give a shit about him either. I already have a father, and his name is Yondu Udonta, captain of the Ravagers. - Peter declares with open hostility, his voice rising in volume and pitch - He might be a lowly merc, and a total dick at times, and not my biological father, but he raised me. He was there when I needed him." he nearly yells, and, at this point in their relationship, Ronan knows that he is on the verge of breaking down. He sees it in the liquid shine of his eyes, in the clenching of his fists, hears it in the brittle, angry sound of his voice and the harsh rythm of his recoils a little, looking uncomfortable, and Ronan feels like he wants to hit both her and Gladiator, for standing there with their sanctimonius expressions and looking down on Peter without knowing the first thing about him, for calling him half-breed and bastard and trying to humiliate him. He doesn't deserve this."Oh, by the God and the Goddess, good-sister, stop this! - Vesta explodes, looking on the verge of tears as well - He is saying the truth! It is not him! It is not them! We got the wrong people!" she wails, hiding her face in her hands.  
"The wrong people for what?" Rocket asks. He is very upset too, his fangs are showing and his fur is standing on end on his neck.  
Helenai hesitates, looking first at her intended and then at Vesta, then sighs.  
"We have received intelligence about a conspiracy to prevent our marriage. - she reveals - We were informed that it was your doing." she adds.  
"It would have stood to reason if you had wanted to take the throne for yourself." Gladiator adds in her support.  
"But he doesn't. I can feel it." Vesta protests. Is she some sort of sensitive, Ronan asks himself."She is right. - Peter declares, wiping his face with the back of his hand - Marry, have kids, reign. I can't care less! Gods, I have never been within two light-years from here before yesterday... Do you need a written statement to get the message that I don't give a fuck about whatever right I might have to the throne?!" he shouts, and with that he breaks down, starting to wraps his arms around Peter and lets him sob into the collar of his jumper. He remembers what he had said about being verbally abused and bullied because he was the son of an unmarried woman, about how his Terran relatives didn't support him but blamed him, labelled him a problem child and foretold for him a future of crime and destitution, all for a sin not his own.  
To have those righteous royal scions re-enact the whole farce must be unbearable. It is no surprise that he has broken down, but it does not matter, because him, Gamora and the Guardians are there to shore him up and protect him.  
Ronan stares down both Helenai and Gladiator, daring them to say anything, to belittle Peter for his pain. He'll find a way of getting through that force-field and break their faces if they do, no matter how."I... I just want this to end. I can't deal with it... - Peter sobs and Gamora hugs him from behind, plastering herself against his back - I thought I could, but I can't... I just can't. It's... it's too much. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." he adds, as if he had to justify himself.  
"It's not your fault, _meri_. You didn't do anything wrong." Ronan whispers, petting his hair to calm him down and try to prevent himself from exploding at the same time."You have no proof of any wrongdoing on his part, just vague hearsay. You are going to release us from this bloody pen." he declares in his coldest, angriest tone, turning towards Helenai and the Shi'ar.  
"I had a duty of precaution to protect my birthright and the nascent peace between my people and the Shi'ar." the princess protests.  
"You would have protected it better had you investigated your sources more thoroughly instead of reacting in panic!" Ronan growls, seeing red."They nearly killed Gladiator! - Helenai retorts, equally angrily - What was I supposed to do?! I want this war to end! I want to marry the man I love! I wasn't going to let a stranger take it all away just because he had the right sort of genitalia!" she shouts, and when Gladiator puts an arm around her shoulders, she too breaks down and buries her face against his chest, shoulders shaking with sobs.  
Ronan loses a bit of his steam upon seeing it. He has been trained to think rationally and strive to be always impartial, but, now that Peter is hurting, it is quite hard to see the Spartoi princess' reasons. It would be easy to be self-righteous and impulsive."I am Groot! I am Groot! I am Groot!" Little Groot chimes in, his high, argentine voice cutting through the argument, and unsurprisingly, he is the only one who has conserved goodwill and perspective.  
"You are right, Groot, it would be a solution." Gamora admits with a sigh.  
"What did the plant say?" Gladiator asks.  
"He has said that we should all sit down and talk, instead of shouting. - Rocket explains - I am all for shouting though, because you two are a right royal couple of arseholes, pun fully intended." he adds viciously.  
"Rocket!" Gamora chides, but only half-heartedly."I am Groot!" Groot insists, crossing his branches over his trunk and tapping a root on the floor, mildly irritated at having his argument derailed.  
"That too, comrade. - Drax intervenes, nodding in agreement - He hypothesizes that the real culprit might have planted false rumors to point you towards Star-Lord. Thus, he would have managed to distract you from his trail." he explains, as if it was natural. Among the Guardians, Drax took the longest to start understanding Groot, but now he captures nuances like only Rocket can do, while the rest of them usually grasp only the general gist of his utterances."I am Groot!" the plant-child concludes.  
Rocket sighs. "Why do you always have to be so sensible, buddy? - he asks, shaking his head with a rueful smile - Of course it would help to compare notes! I want to find out whose arse I'm going to have to bust for organising this ungodly mess!" he adds.

"Yes, please, brother! Please, good-sister! - Vesta chimes in, wiping tears from her face - Let's sit down together and talk without haste. I sense a great evil behind all of this, someone who would love nothing better than to turn the residual hostility between our peoples into deeply entrenched hate, and to watch us destruct each other until no one is left standing and death reigns above all." she explains, her eyes wide and unfocused, as if she is seeing something beyond what everyone else could perceive.

She turns that otherworldly gaze towards Ronan and the Kree has the impression that she is trying to tell him something, to make him understand some fundamental truth that she has glimpsed.

Ronan cannot help but think back on the history of his own people. There were attempts at peace, during the first years of the war with Xandar. Embassies had been exchanged, progress had been made. A truce had even been agreed upon, but then the Kree representatives had been assassinated on Xandar Prime, and some Xandarian prisoners had been killed in their cells on Hala by rogue agents, and retaliations had escalated into higher and higher levels of cruelty and body count, and the war had continued on for three generations and nearly ended with the total destruction of Xandar by his Vesta trying to tell him that their war too had been engineered by an external agency?  
That someone has been sitting to the side and watching his people and the Xandarians kill each other for nearly a century like it was a pleasant show? That all the death and destruction, that all the pain and the loss, on both sides, can be laid at someone's feet? That someone could be accused and made to pay for all of that?Ronan looks at Gamora over Peter's head, and somehow she understands. Who is the one being in this corner of the Universe that above all desires nothingness and revels in destruction, who wishes for Death to reign on everything that exists?  
"Thanos..." Gamora whispers, her eyes wide in realisation.  
"Yes, Thanos." Ronan confirms. Instigator of all evil, corrupter of civilisations, father of wars. Now it all makes can imagine that mad tyrant sitting on his throne, pushing and tweaking, influencing or coercing someone here and someone there, twisting minds, corrupting hearts, engineering large-scale slaughter for his pleasure.  
How many more wars did he have a hand in? How many billions of deaths can be laid at his door?Well, no more, Ronan declares. Not a single life more on Spartax or Shi'ar, not one in the whole Universe.  
Now their self-imposed mission is ever more vital.  
Thanos has to be stopped once and for all, made to finally meet what he desires most.  
It will not immediately cure the Universe from all evil, but it will be a start. It would be a breath of freedom for all, an occasion to set enimities aside and to make a fresh start.  
"You are going to die by the edge of Keenblade, you purple-skinned necrophile." Ronan vows quietly.


	24. Chapter 24

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains some language, some bad attempts at humour, some sexism and lots of politics.

Apart from that, it is quite plot-heavy.

Sorry for not posting anything last week. I was at a conference without reliable internet access, but I wrote quite a lot in the pauses. I hope this chapter can compensate you of the wait...

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

They do sit down and they do talk. They do a whole lot of talking.  
Peter's head feels like it is going to explode out of the massive headache he is nursing.  
His only consolation is that his sister doesn't look any better than he feels. Her face is blotched, her eyes are swollen and red from all the crying she has done, and her expression is pinched with discomfort, but she soldiers on, unwilling to let Gladiator lead the dances.

Being the Crown Princess and a female role model must be a hell of a stressing life. It looks like she always has to demonstrate to the whole of Spartax, and possibly of the Galaxy, that she is tougher, smarter and braver than any man, just to offset the fundamental "flaw" of being a woman. She is under such amounts of pressure that it is a miracle she has not cracked yet.

Peter would like to be still totally mad at her for treating him like a piece of walking refuse, like his Terran relatives used to do, but the problem is that he understands where she is coming from, he understands why she panicked, so he cannot hold on to his indignation and just sits there quietly, letting his mates do most of the talking for once.

He is too tired, totally washed out by the roller-coaster of emotions of the last few days. He'd like to let his feelings sediment a bit, to take it easy and just relax, bask in the newly bloomed three-way relationship between him, Gamora and Ronan, but it seems that there will be hardly any time for it, between saving his sister's wedding from the agents of Thanos or whoever, meeting Nebula and her Asgardian pals, and organizing a plan to bust the Mad Titan's arse. While the others discuss strategy and possible diplomatic alliances with Helenai and Gladiator (and princess Vesta shamelessly cuddles with Little Groot), Rocket is already sketching some humongous weapon he intends to use on the big purple sociopath.  
"Happy families..." he thinks sluggishly.

And they are a big messy, dysfunctional family, in a way.  
At the beginning of the discussion, Helenai whips out a DNA sequencing chip and asks him for a drop of blood. By the time they have delved into the discussion of whether the Emperor knew or not that he existed, the chip pings.  
"Congratulations, Peter! It's a match!" Drax exclaims, slapping him around the back with one of his big paws. Peter gives him a wan smile.  
It doesn't mean much to him. The Guardians are his family, Yondu is his father, for what he is concerned.

They even call his adoptive father at a certain point, trying to clarify some obscure points of his arrival into space.  
Yondu answers the call, shirtless and looking totally shagged out. In the background, Peter thinks he sees a lavander-coloured tail flicking, then the tall, elegant figure of K'se We'al crosses the screen behind the Ravager captain's chair confirming his hunch.  
A smile sneaks on Peter's face. He is happy that they have managed to get back together. Yondu is a bit of an arsehole, but he is not 100% a bad person, and he deserves a bit of happiness.

With his help, and some offstage comments from a cheerful, chirping We'al, they manage to confirm that the person who had asked the Ravagers to retrieve him, and prompted them to disobey out of how much an asshole he was, is not Emperor J'son of Spartax.  
As it turns out, Gamora recognises his description instead.  
"If he is who I think he is, this plot is much more complicated than we originally imagined. " she declares with a certain alarm.  
"Why? Who is that guy?" Peter asks.  
"We knew him as Everyman. He is an agent of Thanos." she replies.  
As the implications of this tidbit of information sink in, Peter feels very happy to be sitting down. His head is spinning and all of a sudden he feels vulnerable, exposed.  
"Do you mean that he meant me to be..." he starts.  
Gamora nods solemnly. "Yes, I think you were meant to be one of my brothers." she concludes.

He gives her a long look, grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself. It is not outside the realm of possibility that Thanos' people had been spying him and his mum, waiting until he was at his most angry, alone and vulnerable to arrange the abduction. He would have been easy to twist, back then. Thanos could have easily turned him into one of his living weapons and pointed him at Spartax to wreak havoc and sow the seeds of death. The mere thought makes him nauseous.

"It's alright, Peter. He is never going to touch you. I promise. - Ronan whispers in his ear, kneading his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him - I'll kill him first. I'll keep you safe." he adds, low and dangerous, and Peter loves him for it.  
"We'll keep you safe." Gamora adds, placing her hand on his arm and smiling at him.

Peter takes a deep breath and steadies himself. It is not the right time to go into hysterics over could-have beens. He can do that later, privately, when they finally manage to find a room with a bed large enough for the three of them.

Now he needs to focus and help. Isn't he the most successful scoundrel this side of the Universe?

"We'll all protect each other. - he retorts with what he hopes looks like determination and not constipation - And hopefully the rest of the Universe. So... looks like step one is making sure that the lovey-doveys there actually manage to marry!" he adds with somewhat forced cheerfulness, waving a hand towards Helenai and Gladiator.  
His sister rolls her eyes, but Gladiator nods in thanks.  
"Help would be appreciated. We don't know who to trust, either here or at my parents' court." he explains.

Peter smiles. "You cannot trust us with money or with not making stuff explode. - he warns - But on one thing you can trust us. We hate Thanos and would never work with him. We will help you." he pledges, knowing that he has full the support of the Guardians in his declaration.  
"And we will help you eliminate the cause of the problem at the root." Helenai counters, a hard glint in her eyes. She offers him her hand, and Peter clasps it firmly, meeting her gaze. It is not outright brotherly love, but it is a start. He can work with that.

After much discussion, they agree that the Guardians will room at the Palace until the wedding.  
If Thanos has agents on Spartax, they probably already know of their presence on the planet, or soon they will. They are not exactly the most discrete of presences, so it seems that the best strategy is to make their presence and their role public straight from the bat.  
Peter agrees to make a public declaration of support to Helenai, renouncing his every right to the throne of Spartax. It doesn't cost him anything to do so, since he had never wanted it in first place. The not-so-hidden sting is that he will have to confront Emperor J'son. This is something that has a huge potential for awkwardness, and he is definitely not looking forward to that. He knows he can sweet-talk anyone in the Galaxy, but faced with the perspective of confronting his biological father, he is even starting to feel some performance anxiety.

They have nearly finished their talk, when the door to the meeting room they are sitting in opens all of a sudden, and Emperor J'son marches in in all his imperial glory, without even thinking of knocking.  
"Ah, there you are, Helenai! I've been looking for you all afternoon... - he starts, pleasantly enough, then his eyes drift towards the Guardians - Who are these people?!" he adds then, clearly irritated by what he must perceive as an invasion.  
Helenai stands and goes towards him. "Father, these are..." she starts to explain.  
Peter stands too, thinking that it must be like with pulling teeth, best to do it quickly and in one go.  
"I am Peter Jason Quill, sire. - he interrupts her - Son of Meredith Quill from Terra. And apparently your son too..." he adds, rolling the sequencing chip between his fingers.

Emperor J'son turns towards him so fast that he must have given himself a whiplash.  
"M-meredith Quill?!" he stammers, eyes wide with shock.  
Peter nods. "Correct. I suppose you might not even remember her." he adds wistfully.  
From what Helenai has told him, Emperor J'son in his youth was even worse than he himself was until he met Gamora and then Ronan and became exclusive.  
His father must have had a girlfriend in every port and so on... his mom was likely to be just one of the many.  
"Of course I do! - J'son protest - I met her back when I was exiled. I crash-landed on Terra, and she rescued me from the wreckage. Pointed a shotgun in my face when I woke up. Such an amazing woman..." he comments fondly.  
At his side, Ronan chuckles quietly. "It must run in the family..." he comments in a whisper.  
Peter feels himself smiling at least a bit in spite of the tension.

"We spent a pleasant few months together on Terra. - Emperor J'son continues, clearly lost in pleasant reminiscences - She was a very talented mechanic. Without her help, I would have never managed to fix my ship and come back home. We used to work in her shed at the campus, with the music blasting from her stereo... What was the name of the band we used to listen to all the time? Yes, the Jackson 5!" he exclaims cheerfully.

"Ah, those were good times... sun, music, freedom and young love... I miss that. - he reminisces wistfully - Meredith didn't tell me... that she... that we... I would have... I don't know... I would have insisted more about taking her with me if I had known." he adds, and he seems sincere.

"I did offer, I swear! - he goes on, wringing his hands - I told her I loved her, that I was going to marry her and make her my Great Royal Wife, and do you know what she told me? That she didn't want to marry and leave, that she wanted to finish her degree, and build her own spaceship. That she'd be the first Terran in hyperspace, and then, only then, she'd come to Spartax and marry me. And, may the Goddess have pity on me, I believed her..." he sighs.

"Danm! - Peter thinks - He didn't know, he truly didn't know."  
He cannot even be angry at him, or blame him for anything more than being a moron who doesn't know what safe sex is, but then, his mom can be faulted with the same. They were young, and foolish and in love, and if they had not been, he wouldn't be here.

"I... I feel guilty that I didn't realise. - the Emperor says - Is she alright? Why did she decide to never contact me again? Did she manage to finish her degree? Did she marry a Terran, instead?" he asks, sounding truly concerned and more than a little bit jealous.

"No, she didn't. She never graduated. She had to go back to her parents, when..." Peter replies sadly, thinking of the menial, low-paid jobs she had to take up to support him and of the scorn of her family.  
She could have been an engineer, could have worked for NASA, at least that was what she used to say, and instead ended up cooking hamburgers for minimum wage because her parents didn't want to pat to support an "easy woman" at college.

"She has been dead for the last twenty-odd years. A cancer. - Peter reveals, tired and close to tears once more - She still thought of you in her final days. She still loved you." he adds, even if he knows that it will hurt him, because it is true and his mom would have wanted him to know.  
She had never blamed him, not like he used to do. She was a good person.

Emperor J'son seems to deflate at that piece of news.  
"Oh, gods... - he whispers, a hand pressed to his chest - This is... I am so sorry, son. How did you cope? How did you find me?" he asks, stepping closer as if wanting to hug him.  
Peter takes an instinctive step back.  
He doesn't want to be hugged. Not by him, at least.  
Emperor J'son is his biological father, and probably not a bad person, but he is a nearly total stranger and it would be awkward instead of comforting.  
The Emperor seems to get the message and stops in his tracks, leaving plenty of space between them.

"The Ravagers took me from Terra straight afterwards. I didn't really have time to mourn her. - Peter tells him - And I've found out just recently about you. Like, this morning. And I'm not exaggerating." he adds.  
"I knew about him. I have known for a while." Helenai confesses. The Emperor turns towards her with a surprised expression.  
"How long is a while?" he asks.  
"Nearly a year." she confesses sheepishly.  
"Why.. why didn't you tell me?" the Emperor asks, sounding wounded.  
"Because... because I wasn't sure that he wasn't just a pretender. - she replies - And I was scared that you would... that you would put him before me because he is male." she adds, her voice small and a bit broken.

Emperor J'son grabs her by the shoulders and stares at her hard.  
"Helenai of Spartax! Don't even joke about this! - he scolds, shaking her slightly - You are my chosen heir, my beloved daughter! I have complete confidence in you. I wouldn't replace you for anything in the world!" he declares.  
"No offense meant, son." he adds, turning towards Peter.  
"None taken. I'm not interested in that, at any rate. - he repeats once more - We Guardians are just here to help with your little Thanos-related problem." he adds cheerfully.

At that point, Emperor J'son does a 'WTF face' that looks even funnier that Ronan's.  
They explain, bringing him up to speed on the hard facts and their reasonably solid theories on Thanos' role in most, if not all, large-scale conflict in the Galaxy.  
By the end of the explanation, Emperor J'son is both horrified and solidly in their camp.  
"Happy families indeed..." Peter thinks.

The thought is still echoing in his mind when he sits in Emperor J'son office, dressed in his best finery, relatively speaking, under the objective of the holocameras of the Spartax System ComNet.  
The Emperor is sitting next to him and a troupe of make-up people have worked on them to make sure that the striking resemblance between them seems even more striking under the cameras. They are even wearing matching colours.

His biological father seems relaxed enough. Probably giving statements and interviews to the press is a totally commonplace activity for him. Peter feels trapped and exposed, instead, and is covered in cold sweat.  
He'd rather have a bare-knuckles boxing round against an enraged Kree than do this, but there is no escaping from his predicament. This farce is required by the plan and it will be over quickly enough.

The camera-person gives the signal, and the interviewer nods, counting the seconds off on her fingers.  
"Three... two... one... on air!" she whispers, then takes a thrilled expression, as if there is no other place she'd rather be.  
"Greetings fellow Spartoi! - she starts - This is Z'nobia from SSC, transmitting directly from the Imperial Palace with amazing news about the Imperial Household!" she announces, taking up the scene.  
The camera then moves to capture both her and the Emperor at the same time.

"As Your Majesty must know, rumours about a mysterious male pretender to the throne have been circulating wildly in the last couple of years... - she continues - In all this time, Your Majesty has declined to comment on the issue. What has changed now?" she asks, crossing her legs daintily.

The Emperor wears his most charming smile, and Peter can see that it has an immediate effect on the interviewer.  
"What has changed is that it is no longer a rumour, but a certainty. - he replies - After several years of uncertainty on his fate, I have managed to find my only son. Dear Z'nobia, my beloved subjects, let me introduce Peter Jason Quill, the Star-Lord, hero of the battle of Xandar Prime!" he announces bombastically, motioning towards Peter's seat. The camera swivels to capture him and Peter forces a smile on his face.

"This is a bit too exaggerated, father... - he protests, but cheerfully, feigning complicity with the Emperor - Most of the credit goes to the heroic blockade of the Nova Corps, and also to my fellow Guardians." he adds, trying to be very politic about it. He doesn't want Nova Prime to get even more pissed off at him.  
Z'nobia laughs a charming little laugh.  
"Not just a hero, but modest too... - she purrs, evidently flirting - A true Prince Charming. I am sure the Spartoi will be impressed. And where was such a hero hiding until now?" she asks.  
"Oh, here and there, adventuring throughout the Galaxies. I wasn't aware of my heritage until recently." Peter replies as agreed. He doesn't want to reveal much about himself. The interviewer seems satisfied, however, and turns back towards the Emperor.

"You must admit that such a revelation, and so close to the marriage between Crown Princess Helenai and Prince Gladiator of Shi'ar is bound to cause some excitement. - she comments - How is this going to affect the succession, Your Majesty?" she asks politely.  
Emperor J'son shrugs lightly.  
"It is not. - he replies coolly - Crown Princess Helenai is and remains my sole heir." he declares.  
"But, Your Majesty, Prince Peter is a male son of yours... - the interviewer objects and Peter cringes at her choice of words - The precedents are clear..." she adds somewhat slyly.  
"Let me take this from here, father. - Peter intervenes - My sister Helenai is a brilliant politician and general, she has been instructed by the best tutors and has the full confidence of our father the Emperor. She has all my support in her difficult and exalted role as heir." he declares.  
"Does this mean that you will formally give up your right to the throne?" the interviewer asks, somewhat surprised and disappointed.  
"I have already done this. There is a document, written and signed by me, that attests it. - Peter reveals nonchalantly - I have spent my life adventuring and traveling. I know nothing of politics or diplomacy. Being male doesn't make me automatically prepared to rule. And to be honest, I don't even _want_ to be Emperor. But one thing I pledge: I will always support my sister and her descendants, come whatever may." he declares, his expression hardening. He wants to make it clear that he will not be swayed or persuaded into any sort of scheme or conspiracy.  
Next to him, the Emperor nods in approval.  
"Well spoken, my son! - he exclaims, patting him on the back - This is how a true hero of Spartax speaks! And now, I think that we will leave you at that. We have been only very recently re-united, and we still have many things to say to each other." he adds, part ordering and part appealing to her feelings.  
"Of course Your Majesty. I'll leave you to your happy reunion. - she beams - From the Imperial Palace this is all. Z'nobia of SSC out!" she concludes, and the camera-person signals the end of the transmission.

Peter and the Emperor slip out of the room as the ComNet people pack their things.  
Now that their little play is finished, they both look exhausted.  
"This should give them pause." Emperor J'son comments, leaning against the closed door.  
"And now comes the hard bit." Peter adds.  
"Do you reckon you can find them in time?" the Emperor asks.  
Peter shrugs. "I hope so. We'll do our best at any rate. - he replies - We're bounty hunters. Finding perps is our day job."  
"I can't ask for more, son." J'son declares, laying a hand on his shoulder. Peter accepts the gesture in silence, feeling like he is betraying Yondu somehow.

"Listen Peter, I know you must be angry with me, but want you to know that I truly wish I could have been there for you and your mother all these years." the Emperor says, trying to hold his gaze.  
Peter shakes his head. "I am no longer angry. Just sad... She loved you." he retorts quietly.  
"And I loved her. With all my heart. - the Emperor declares - In my long, complicated life, I loved only three women: your mother, Helenai's mother and Irani, and I lost them all."  
Peter feels a twinge of sympathy towards him and pats his shoulder too, then his mind does a double-take.  
"Hang on a sec, Your Majesty! - Did you say Irani?" he asks, going from wistful to full-blown alarmed in one go.  
"Yes, I did." the Emperor confirms.  
"As in Irani Rael, the Nova Prime?!" Peter insists.  
"Of course. - the Emperor says calmly - Her first post was as a diplomatic attachè here on Spartax. We had a relationship before I was exiled, then she went and married that bastard, Illian Dahun. She is a wonderful woman, she always was. I would have married her, if I had had the chance." he confesses.  
Peter looks at him with a slightly horrified expression. His father and Nova Prime... that is a sobering thought.  
"I thought you knew. I thought she had told you, that she had been the one to point you our way. I thought you were her protegè." the Emperor says, sensing his distress.  
Peter shakes his head.  
"She hinted that she knew something about my parentage, but kept mum. - he explains - We had a bit of a falling out about Ronan, and now all of us Guardians are _personae non gratae_ in the Nova Empire." he reveals.  
"He is your lover." the Emperor says without hesitation, an inquisitive look in his sharp blue eyes.  
"He is my significant other. - Peter corrects him - Both him and Gamora are. We are in a _triada_. For Gamora's people it used to be traditional. I just happen to like it." he explains coolly. He is not going to deny or hide anything. There is nothing shameful in what they have.

The Emperor's expression doesn't shift, as if he is waiting for more explanations.  
"It is pretty new, but we are happy, very happy, and I hope that you can accept it, because I love them, and I need no authorizations from anyone. - Peter goes on, slightly belligerent - Sorry if I ruined any marriage plans you had for me, but this is how it is." he concludes firmly.  
"You're old enough to know what you want, son. - the Emperor retorts, refusing to take the bait - If those people make you happy, you have my blessing." he declares.  
Peter is speechless for a moment. Is it truly so easy?  
"Seriously? Are you not even a bit disappointed or angry?" he asks.  
"Well, I had half a mind of arranging for you to marry Irani's daughter, but..." the Emperor teases.  
"Ew! That would be almost incest!" Peter protests, and the Emperor starts to laugh heartily.

"I am happy that we found each other, Peter. - he says as soon as his laughter dies down - I know I cannot make up for the years I left you alone, and I know I cannot even replace that scoundrel Yondu as a father figure, but I am glad that I got to meet you. I truly am." he declares, and this time, Peter lets him hug him, albeit briefly.  
"Now go. Go to your comrades and lovers. - he exhorts when they separate - We'll speak more in the morrow. Rest now. It has been a long day and it will be an even longer couple of weeks." he foretells.

Peter does as told. A servant directs him to a room and he follows almost in a shuffle. The adrenalin that had kept him alert has faded, and he feels exhausted and weak.  
Gamora and Ronan are waiting for him in the room, already half-undressed.  
He slips out of his clothes too and curls in their waiting arms on the bed, sobbing quietly from the confusing mix of emotions that swirls in his chest.  
They soothe him and calm him down with their presence, whispering words of love and support in his ears, promising to destroy his enemies and keep him safe.  
And he feels safe. He feels at home.


	25. Chapter 25

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains some language, some bad attempts at humour, some speciesism, some homophoby and quite a bit of sarcasm.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

On the big day, they sit on the side of the bride in Lakedaimon's temple of the of the Thousand Faces, dressed in newly tailored finery.  
Peter's imperial father has spared no money to make sure that they looked like they belonged at such a gathering of royals and rulers.  
Peter looks absolutely stunning in his traditional Spartoi knee-length, belted tunic and cloak, dyed with saffron and the finest purple that money can buy. He is sitting slightly away from the rest of them, next to his father and his gaggle of sisters, and even though Ronan knows he should look out for possible threats, his gaze keeps straying to him, to his long, bare legs and his smiling face.  
Sitting at his side, Gamora is not less beautiful in a dark red dress, designed with the traditional costumes of her people in mind: high-waisted and strapless, with a long, wide skirt. Her two-toned hair is done up in a bun, leaving all her long, kissable neck and her shoulders bare. She has tried the dress earlier in the week and she can still high-kick someone's face off in that. It is just perfect for her.  
Rocket looks almost refined in a well-fitting suit and even Drax is wearing a new pair of trousers and boots.

Even though Ronan is technically still just a retainer, the Emperor has provided clothes for him as well, and tailored in a surprisingly good approximation of traditional Kree dress robes, with loose trousers, a long-ish tunic and a longer, hooded coat, done in a thick, dark blue cloth with subtle red accents, a bit like the decorations on Keenblade. It is probably better made than any other set of dress robes that he had ever owned. Before his fall, he had hardly ever worn anything apart from his armour.

From the Kree delegation sitting not far away, some people stare his way, even though by tradition they should ignore him. There are some members of the Ruling Council and some officers, all without any war paint as befits a time of peace, but Cathair Fyiero is nowhere to be seen. Maybe he has decided that he had better things to do with his time than go to a royal wedding. Ronan has recognized a few faces among the delegates, but he has no intention of approaching them. Two sides can play at the game of passively-aggressively ignoring each other.

Sitting as far as possible from the Kree delegation among a gaggle of paper-pushers and a few Nova Corps officers in dress uniform, Nova Prime looks very irritated (like she has swallowed a turd, Rocket says), and often glares at the Guardians. Ronan does his best to ignore her as well and combs the crowds for signs of danger.

Loyal Spartoi and Shi'ar guards are posted throughout the temple, both in the area reserved to the authorities and in naves and plaza, with the explicit order to be on the lookout for troublemakers and party-crashers.  
During the last two weeks, the Guardians have lent a hand to the security forces of both systems in ferreting out conspirators. They have made a few good catches, some of which likely to be linked to Thanos, but Ronan doubts that will be the end of it, and everyone seems to agree with his analysis.  
They have planned for the worst, and the Guardians will be the last ring of defense around the bride and groom, along with the Shi'ar Pretorians and a small contingent from the Spartoi Sacred Battalion.

"I have spotted Nebula." Gamora announces quietly, nodding towards one side of the Temple.  
It takes him a moment to find her himself, hidden behind the Asgardian delegation. She has grown her hair out, or worn a wig, so that her artificial eye is half-hidden by dark locks, and her long-sleeved dressy jumpsuit disguises her other cybernetics. The result is quite impressive and is turning a few eyes all around.  
Nebula notices his gaze and smirks, striking a pose and blowing him a kiss.  
"It looks like she is in a good mood..." Gamora whispers, then grabs him by the lapels of his coat and pulls him into a heated kiss.  
Ronan emerges from it a bit breathless and probably sporting a silly grin. He still hasn't got used to that sort of thing and he doubts he ever will. Every time it happens, it feels like the first time, as magical and amazing. He wishes for it to remain so forever.

"Jealous?" he teases, feeling bold enough to trail a finger along her nape. She bites her lip and shivers almost imperceptibly. Ronan takes a mental note to tease her about that later.  
"This was not for her benefit. Mostly. - Gamora retorts - It was for theirs." she adds, inclining her head towards the Kree delegation.  
"They were staring. I just wanted to give them something to stare at. - she explains - They don't blush half as pretty as you, I have to say." she comments mischievously.  
"Public displays of intimacy are not very common among the Kree." Ronan explains, and leans in for another kiss, struggling to keep himself from threading his fingers in her soft hair and ruining her hairdo.

"You are a wicked man. - Gamora whispers when they stop - Look at the way they are staring at us... It's like they've never seen two people kiss in their lives."  
"Maybe not two people from different species. Mixed couples are very rare in the Empire. The Houses try to preserve their bloodlines. - Ronan explains - It used to make sense to me, before, but looking back at it now, it doesn't anymore. Love cannot really be planned or enforced. It just happens." he says, brushing her shoulders with his fingers once more.  
Gamora lays a warm hand on his cheek and smiles softly.  
"I love you too. - she replies - Ah, it looks like someone is coming to ask us to stop." she adds, none too thrilled.  
One of the Kree delegates, an Accuser in a green and silver dress uniform, has stood up from his bench and is striding purposefully their way.  
Ronan knows him, he used to be a junior officer under his command. His name is Nechtan. He was not a bad man, and not even one of the strictest traditionalists.

Nechtan stops in front of Ronan and Gamora and bows curtly.  
"Lady Gamora of the Guardians - he greets - I formally request leave to speak with your _haaq_." he declares, giving Ronan a sidelong glance.  
"I am afraid you will have to ask him if he wants to talk to you. - Gamora retorts without missing a beat - I am not playing Kymellian whispers so that you can keep on pretending that he doesn't exist." she adds belligerently.  
Nechtan looks a bit out of his depth, uncertain about what to do next. He was probably relying on traditional practices to provide him with a frame of reference, and now he feels insecure without it. Ronan knows from experience how he must feel and decides to rescue him.  
"Greetings, Nechtan of House Derwen. How can I help you?" he says, hiding a frustrated sigh.  
Nechtan turns towards him with relief and embarrassment.  
"I... I wish to talk to you." he says, omitting any form of greeting. Probably he had no idea of how to greet him in the first place.  
"I hear you." Ronan declares, crossing his arms over his chest.  
"In private." Nechtan adds, switching to High Kree.  
"I have no secrets from the Guardians. If you wish to speak to me, it will be here. - Ronan retorts quietly but firmly, and in Trader's - And you might want to know that they understand High Kree. I have taught them." he adds dryly. He will take part in no games.  
Nechtan looks at a loss for words and his gaze shifts to and fro between him and Gamora with slight alarm.  
"Oh, for Pama's sake! - Ronan growls, standing up from the bench and grabbing Nechtan's elbow - Let's go. It will only be a minute." he adds turning towards Gamora and the others.  
"Take your time. - Gamora tells him - Helenai will take a while more getting ready."  
Ronan nods and drags his former underling a few steps away, into one of the chapels dotting the walls of the Temple. The guards let them through, they know Ronan to be one of their own for the day. The only witness to their conversation will be the statue of a goddess, caught in an eternal leap as she dances Spring into existence. It seems oddly fitting.

"What is so terribly embarrassing that you could not say it in front of the Guardians?" Ronan asks as soon as they are alone.  
He realises is slipping back into the forbidding demeanour he used to keep when he was Supreme Accuser, and it takes him a conscious effort to stop himself. He doesn't know what game the Kree delegation is playing yet, if any game is being played at all. His reproach is not warranted, for now.

"A-are you alright?" Nechtan asks.  
Ronan blinks in confusion for a moment.  
"Yes, I am perfectly fine." he replies. Is Nechtan just concerned for his safety? The idea is heartwarming and irritating at the same time.  
"Are they... the Guardians... treating you well?" Nechtan insists, refusing to look at him.  
Ronan does sigh now, then regrets it.

For a _haaq_ to be mistreated by non-Kree barbarians is what he would have expected before actually giving himself up to the Guardians. He cannot legitimately expect Nechtan to know any better. This is his chance to convince at least one Kree that they are missing out by closing themselves off from the rest of the Galaxy. But how can he even begin to explain himself?

"Have they... have they _forced_ you?" Nechtan asks, blushing so hard that he must feel dizzy.  
"I... I have seen you kiss that woman, and I you would not... you never..." he continues, trying to fill the silence but stumbling on his own words.  
"I never kissed anyone before in my whole life, you mean?" Ronan concludes for him, resisting the impulse to roll his eyes.  
"Precisely! And she is not Kree!" Nechtan adds.  
"Which doesn't really make a difference. Not to me, at least. Not anymore." Ronan clarifies, much to his astonishment.  
"I beg your pardon?!" Nechtan squeaks.

Ronan lays a hand on his shoulder and draws him closer.  
"Listen, Nechtan. How long have you known me for?" he asks.  
"Oh, years. Since I graduated as an Accuser and started working under you." Nechtan replies, happy about the change of subject.  
"You might have not noticed, I expect that you have not, in fact, but for all those years, I have been constantly on the verge of snapping. - Ronan reveals softly - And then the treaty was signed and I just did." he adds matter-of-factly.  
Nechtan looks at him in confusion, with wide green eyes.  
"The Xandarians did terrible things to us, and it was not _Ma'at_, so I went on a private war and did terrible things to them and to other in search of revenge. - he continues - I was too broken to realise that my actions were not _Ma'at_ in the eyes of Pama either, and too angry to realize that they would solve nothing."  
"But the Great Fires? All those deaths? Would have you left them unpunished?" Nechtan asks, evidently shocked.  
Ronan shakes his head.  
"I am not saying this. I don't regret executing those pilots, because they were truly responsible of the crimes I had accused them of. That was _Ma'at_. - he declares tersely - But the Xandarian civilians? They were innocent, just as the victims of the Great Fires. Slaughtering them wouldn't have brought back our lost ones. It would have just caused more pain, more desperation." he adds.

Nechtan hesitates, then nods in understanding. He probably was not even born at the time of the Great Fires, but his House would have been affected, somehow, all the Houses had been. He had likely grown up with tales of pain and the ghosts of the dead hanging over his childhood. It makes him sad to think about it.

"When the Guardians took me in, I was well and truly lost. I had strayed so far from the Path of Pama that I could barely see how I could go back. - Ronan continues even more quietly - They helped me, Nechtan. They could have punished me and broken me further, it would have been within their rights, but they showed me support and compassion instead. They helped me find strength and meaning, so that I could fix myself." he reveals.  
"And did you? Are you... like you were before? - Nechtan asked - You seem... different." he adds.  
"I am. - Ronan admits - I have seen new places, met new people, experienced new things, and seen old things from a different perspective. I have changed, Nechtan. It is not a bad thing." he explains.  
Nechtan grimaces slightly.  
"Is it not? - he asks - You used to be a hero for our people. An example." he declares.  
"Then you were taking the wrong example. - Ronan retorts dryly - I was an empty shell, propped up by duty and anger. I had given up on everything that makes life worth living. This is not what one should aspire to. This is not what Pama asks of us."  
"And how would you know? You have been living among barbarians, far away from Pama's sweet voice!" Nechtan retorts haughtily.  
"Pama does not reside just with the Kree. She is everywhere. - Ronan declares, shaking his head - _Ma'at_ is one, throughout the Galaxies. All sentients have it in their hearts, and live by it, or try to. That is the only thing that matters. Everything else, sex, species, colour, is just window dressing to me now."  
"Are you serious?!" Nechtan blurts out, quite shocked.  
"I have been told that my sense of humour is lacking." Ronan retorts.  
Nechtan gapes openly for a moment, then sets his jaw firmly.  
"I suppose that makes sleeping with that woman easier." he quips sarcastically.  
"Being in love makes it easy. It makes it right." Ronan retorts. The conversation is starting to get on his nerves.  
"You let yourself fall for your captor?! - Nechtan comments, rather horrified - No, you can't have... I can't believe it. It must be Centaurian syndrome."  
"No, it is not. It is real." Ronan declares, but Nechtan shakes his head in denial.  
"No. This is not... this is not you. You need help. - he says with concern - It is not right, what they did to you. It is cruel." he adds with clear concern. It would be a nice sentiment, if there was anything to be concerned about. As things stand, Nechtan's refusal to accept that things are actually fine is just patronising and irritating.

"Nechtan, no. They didn't do anything to me. I fell in love with them because they make me happy, because they make me feel alive. - he says, grabbing the younger man by the shoulders and shaking him slightly - I don't need help. I don't need rescuing. Is it so bloody hard to understand?!" he practically yells at the end.  
"T-them?" Nechtan repeats, a bit cowed, but not completely yet.

Ronan sighs and rubs a hand on his face. Maybe he should have avoided mentioning that detail, not out of shame, but because if it was hard to make his former underling accept his relationship with a non-Kree female, this is going to be even harder.  
"Yes, them. - he soldiers on - I am in a relationship with Gamora and Peter, the one they call Star-Lord." he reveals and, as he should have imagined, Nechtan gapes in horror.  
"B-but he is a man!" he stammers angrily.  
"Oh, really? I had not noticed." Ronan quips, rolling his eyes.  
Nechtan glares at him. Lack of sense of humour must be a shared Kree trait.  
"Truly you have strayed far." he comments with a disapproving grimace.  
"I don't have to justify myself to you, or to anyone. - Ronan retorts irately - This is how it is. Whether you like it or not, it is none of my concern." he concludes as icily as he can manage.

Nechtan looks like he is going to insist further, and Ronan is on the verge of doing something silly like belting him across the face until he gets some sense in that narrow mind of his, but thankfully two little royals waltz in unannounced, giving Ronan the perfect excuse to ignore him.  
"Oh, here you are, good-brother!" prince Vulcan of Shi'ar exclaims. He is young enough that his feather-crest has not grown out yet and his little head is covered by the softest black down.  
Hand in hand with him, as always, is princess Alethea of Spartax, Peter's youngest sister. The two have become nigh on inseparable ever since they first met, and people are already taking bets on how long it will take for a second royal marriage to take place.

"Gamora told us to tell you that Helenai is nearly ready. - the little girl announces, - She says you'd better hurry." she adds, pulling him by the hem of his coat.  
Ronan finds himself smiling at the pair. They are so innocent and happy, oblivious of things like speciesism or bigotry.  
If he ever had any doubt about why he is there in the Temple, doing what he is doing, looking at the two of them would instantly clear them away.  
This is _Ma'at_. This is worth fighting for.  
"As you command, my lady." he says cheerfully, letting the two children lead him out if the chapel.  
Nechtan stays behind, looking completely baffled. Ronan feels a slight pang of regret for having failed to influence him at all, but as they say, you truly cannot teach colour to the blind. Some things have to be experienced to be understood.

"Is everything alright?" Gamora asks him in a whisper when he returns to his seat.  
Ronan nods and sits at her side, linking his hand with hers.  
"We might have given poor Nechtan permanent psychological scars." he declares sarcastically.  
Gamora gives him a quizzical look.  
"I think the three of us pretty much break all Kree sexual taboos at once. He couldn't handle it." he explains dryly, casting a quick glance at Peter, who catches it and beams.  
"Did you tell him?" she asks, caught between worry and pleased surprise.  
Ronan nods. "I have nothing to be ashamed of about our relationship." he declares.  
"Doesn't it hurt you that they can't accept it?" she asks quietly.  
_"_I knew it would be like that, _merit_. I went into this with eyes open. - he replies - I have no regrets."  
"I am glad to hear that." Gamora comments with a satisfied smile.  
Ronan smiles back. "My pleasure." he says, giving her a quick peck on the lips.


	26. Chapter 26

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains language, oecumenic rituals, female-centric rituals, gender equality overtones, sarcasm and, especially triggering, violence, gore and torture with overtones of sexual abuse.  
If you feel uncomfortable with any of these themes, you might want yo consider skipping this chapter.

Things are heating up on Spartax Prime.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

Finally Helenai makes her entrance in the Temple, gliding down the nave hand in hand with Gladiator.  
By tradition, she should have been walked to the altar by her father, a veil on her head and pretending to be shy and unwilling so that she would look chaste and modest.  
For his daughter, however, Emperor J'son decided that he would give tradition a boot to the backside and let the two devise their own oecumenic ceremony. They have made it into a display of equality and unity.

They both look radiant, as if their happiness is so great that their physical bodies cannot contain it and it spills out of them in a shimmer of light.  
Helenai is dressed in a long, flowing dress of the brightest red, like freshly spilled Spartoi blood, her head uncovered and proudly held up. She is a princess and a victorious general, and she is willingly, eagerly going to her fate. Gladiator instead is wearing a toga of the purest white, with no tunic underneath, which makes his deep purple skin seem even more vibrant, and gives all the audience a lot of eye candy. The Shi'ar prince doesn't seem to mind the stares, and walks confidently at his fiancee's side, his feather crest perked up proudly.

Behind them, walks a group of children of different genders and species, all dressed in their traditional costumes, holding palm branches or throwing flower petals all around. Groot is with them, sporting coloured ribbons tied to his branches. A rather impressive crown of new leaves and flowers has appeared on his head. He looks over the moon with happiness and beams proudly as the nuptial cortege passes next to the benches where the Guardians are sitting.

Bride and groom stop at the top of the nave and separate for a moment. Helenai glides towards her father and her siblings, while Gladiator goes to his family. They kneel in almost perfect unison, to receive the blessing of their families, then stand again and walk back towards the centre of the nave, and then on again, to kneel at the feet of their intended's parents and get their blessing too before reuniting at the center of the Temple.

"It is time, sisters!" Majestrix Lilandra of Shi'ar proclaims, standing from her seat and clapping her hands together.  
All over the Temple, several highborn women stand as well, and walk towards the altar, linking hands with the others as they reach them.  
From the Xandarian delegation it is Nova Prime; from Spartax, J'son's Great Royal Wife; from the ranks of the Skrull, the huge and decrepit Dowager Emperess R'tha; from Asgard, a young woman in a suit of ceremonial armour; from Centauri, an adolescent princess all tattooed and dressed as a hunter, and then the Duchess of Gramosia, with her usual innocent smile, and more.  
Guided by some sort of presentiment, Ronan turns towards the Kree delegation.  
Pushing back her dark green hooded cloak, High Priestess Derdriyu stands up from the ranks of the Accusers among which she was hiding, and advances towards the altar with the help of her long white cane.  
Her heavy, multilayered gown is so white that it seems to shine, and her long, black hair is unbound on her shoulders. There is a wide, estatic smile on her face as she joins the other women in a circle around the bride and groom.  
Ronan feels a shiver run down his spine. This is a solemn, sacred moment and he feels blessed for being able to witness it.

"Crown Princess Helenai of Spartax! Prince Gladiator of Shi'ar! - Dowager Emperess R'tha calls out with her raspy, elderly voice - You have gathered us here, in front of the Goddess, to serve as her priestesses. What do you seek from her?" she asks.  
"We seek to be joined in equal marriage." the two reply together.  
"Have you come here of your own volition? Freely and without coercion?" the Centaurian princess asks in her high, clear voice.  
"Yes!" the two confirm.  
"Why do you seek this union?" the Duchess asks in turn.  
"For duty?" the Majestrix and J'son's wife continue.  
"For power?" Nova Prime insists sternly.  
"We seek this union for love." they retort together.  
"We seek this union so that our love, born on a battlefield, might unite our warring peoples, and build a lasting peace between them." Helenai adds.  
"We seek this union so that our children, and the children of our children won't have to exchange their toys for weapons, or have their childhoods stolen by death and destruction." Gladiator continues.  
They look at each other for a moment, and join their hands.  
"We seek this union because it is what our heart desires, our reason demands, and our soul says it should be." they proclaim.  
"The Goddess hears you! - Derdriyu announces, lifting her arms and her face towards the heavens - She blesses your union and proclaims it _Ma'at_!" she declares.  
A cheer invades the Temple, but with a simple, powerful gesture, the blind priestess orders silence.  
"Is there anyone who dares to oppose the will of the Goddess?" the Asgardian shieldmaiden roars, raising her fist in the air.  
Ronan does not need a big leap of imagination to realise that this is the moment when, if things were to go south, they would.  
Predictably, they do.

Reality tears with an unpleasant ripping sound, discharging a man in the middle of the nave. Most of the guests freeze in surprise and near panic.  
The gatecrasher is huge, a full head and shoulders taller than Ronan is, large in proportion, and nearly bursting with muscle, his brown skin is covered with scales and bony plates like a natural armour. In his hand there is a massive spiked mace and the stranger seems eager to use it, judging by the bloodthirsty expression on his brutish, prognate face.

"I do!" he growls arrogantly, tapping the head of his mace on the floor.  
"Well, we don't actually give a shit, you know?!" Rocket exclaims, pulling out one of the guns he had hidden under the bench and taking a neat headshot at the unsuspecting invader. He shouldn't have assumed that everyone would be too scared to react. He shouldn't have overlooked the small guys. Well, his bad, Ronan thinks.

It's not one of Rocket's biggest guns, but his aim is true and the distance to the target is very short. The big man's head splatters all over the floor and the guests in a reasonably sized radius, among a chorus of yells and shrill screams.

"Oh, well, that solves it!" Dowager Emperess R'tha comments, clapping her bony hands together with almost childish glee.  
"W-what just happened?!" Derdriyu asks, clearly shocked, vainly twisting her head around in an attempt to gather her bearings in the confusion.  
"It is better that you haven't seen it, trust me. - Nova Prime comments, looking nauseated - Let's wrap this up, quickly, before more come through!" she urges.  
"I... what?! What is going on?!" Derdriyu stammers. She seems to be totally panicking and Ronan can imagine why. All this confusion and the explosion... It must feel more than a little like the day of the Great Fire.  
"Ah, for goodness' sake! I'll do it then! - Nova Prime exclaims - In the name of the Goddess, I declare you joined in marriage. Now let's get the hell out of here!" she adds, turning towards the royal couple.  
Helenai and Gladiator shrug and retrieve their weapons from under the altar.

"Let's go kill some of those bastards, husband." Helenai proposes.

Gladiator grins. "A woman after my own heart..." he comments.

Among much consternation, the two run back to the nave, to help the defense.

In the Temple the confusion is increasing by the second as people start demanding for explanations, and declare their outrage and unfounded suspicions.  
The Kree delegation stands, as do the Xandarians, the Asgardians, and, obviously, the Skrull.  
All over the Temple, many concealed weapons are drawn and the appointed guards immediately start evacuating the crowds. The Guardians take up their weapons, ready to intervene where needed.  
"My guests! I am afraid the ceremony will have to be cut short! - Emperor J'son apologises, pulling out a pair of guns that would make Rocket proud - Please follow the instructions of the guards and evaucuate swiftly." he instructs. Thankfully, they have planned for a contingency like this.

The rift opens again, in multiple places at the same time, spewing forth blind, sinewy creatures that start attacking whoever is closer, keeping guards and guests engaged on several fronts.  
One of them opens on the far side of the altar. A creature appears, right behind Derdriyu and Nova Prime. Ronan was waiting for it to happen and is moving before anyone else can react, holding Keenblade in both hands. He leaps and moves his _labyrs_ in an arc. A red crescent of energy shoots from the edge of the blade, flying at full speed towards the creature and nearly slicing it in half.  
He lands nearly on top of it, and intercepts the second creature even before it really emerges from the portal, hacking it into pieces, only to be immediately confronted by a third and a fourth creature.  
"Lads! Nechtan! Euan! - he calls out towards his former subordinates as he fights - Get the ladies out of here! Now!"

Driven by the force of habit, the Accusers rush to carry out his orders, seemingly forgetting that he is nothing but a _haaq_ and a degenerate. Derdriyu and the Duchess gratefully let the Kree shepherd them into their ranks. Unfortunately, not everyone is so compliant.  
"What the hell is going on here?" Nova Prime asks indignantly, avoiding Euan's admittedly feeble attempts at getting hold of her.  
"Thanos." Ronan replies, trying to be civil even if he can't stand the sight of her, and he really hasn't got any time for a conversation. Two young officers have momentarily relieved him from the defense of the gap, batting the creatures away with their ceremonial swords, and for the moment the way out of the Temple from the altar area is clear. They need to hurry.  
"He wants to restart the war between Spartax and Shi'ar. And maybe even the war between us." Ronan explains as briefly as he can, faced with her sceptic expression.

The evacuation is well under way in the rest of the Temple, and, thanks to the coordinated effort of all defenders, guests and hosts alike, only a few creatures are still standing, but he has the feeling that this must have been just the first wave. They need to get all non-combatants out of the way before Tanos sends in the big hitters.  
"And why should he?" Nova Prime objects. He can almost see the gears spinning as fast as possible in that brilliant, perfectly coiffed politician's head. She must be trying to find an angle to the situation, aiming to discover an intrigue even if there are none.  
"Because he is the Mad Titan, the lover of Death. He doesn't need a bloody reason! - Ronan growls - Now, please, get yourself to safety and let the professionals solve this." he adds dryly. It is quite satisfying to be able to shut her up.

"I'm not going anywhere with these people! Where are my men?" she protests.  
Right in that moment, another portal opens close to where the Xandarian delegation was sitting. The Nova Corps officers are immediately sucked in the fight along with a few Superguardians.  
"Down there." the Asgardian shieldmaiden points out.  
"The blue chap here is right, dearie. - Dowager Emperess R'tha intervenes - Either get a weapon and fight, or get the hell out of the way. You'll end up getting yourself and others killed." she warns. The Skrull matron has morphed her hands into huge fists of rock and is eagerly looking around for something to hit.  
"Skrulls..." Ronan thinks, almost fondly, returning to business.

"Give me a gun." Nova Prime orders.  
Ronan, who was busy shouting to some Kree officers to secure the side door that is their closest exit route, turns sharply towards her.  
"Are you serious?!" Ronan yells. It is common knowledge that she was never a soldier, but rather a diplomat and a strategist.  
"I will evacuate, but I will not stand unarmed among those Kree." Nova Prime insists.  
Ronan steps back from the fray for a moment and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. It doesn't work very well.

"Armed or unarmed, I could snap your weak Xandarian neck with my bare hands... - he hisses, intentionally crowding her - Any of the lads could. But they won't, because they are not assassins, because there is a treaty between our people and this would not be _Ma'at_. We take things like this seriously, madam." he adds sternly.  
"You, _mari-anni_! - he calls out to a young Kree man that looks little more than a cadet - Are you any good with that sword of yours?"  
"Top of my class, sir!" the youngster replies proudly.  
"Give your gun to Madam Rael and get her to safety. Defend her at all costs, as if she was your kin." Ronan orders, feeling his heart clench a bit at those words. This is necessary. This will show her that she was wrong in believing the Kree a savage, brutal people.  
The young warrior nods eagerly. "Yessir! Of course, sir!" he exclaims, slipping his gun in Nova Prime's hands and his arm around her shoulders protectively.  
"Come on, _mut-i._ \- he says gently, using the traditional Kree honorific for one's female elders - You'll be safe with us."  
Ronan catches a last glimpse of her as she stumbles away, led by the kid, then shoves any thought of her out of his mind, and none too soon, because a new crop of portals pops into existence, spewing a new wave of invaders, only this time they are armed paramilitary troops and a few people with non-standard equipment. It looks like the big hitters have arrived.

"Ha! This is how a marriage feast should be!" Emperor Kl'rt of the Skrull exclaims, diving into the fray alongside his terrifying mother. Ronan barely pays any mind to him. His attention is concentrated on one of the invaders coming out of the portals.  
He cannot really tell _what_ the newcomer is supposed to be. Its entire body is made of flames, and as soon as it warps fully into the Temple, it starts shooting fiery projectiles at the defenders all around him. Its aim is rather loose and the drapes hanging from the walls catch on fire.  
The smell of charred meat, overheated stone and smoke is enough to make Ronan nauseous and shaky.  
He is rather terrified at the perspective of having to fight against that _thing_, but the newcomer seems to be aiming straight for him.

"Ronan of the Kree! Betrayer! - he shouts with a hissing, crackling voice - Thanos sends his greetings!" he adds, raising a hand and throwing a ball of fire straight at him.  
Ronan is so paralyzed with terror that he barely manages to throw his arms over his face for protection before it hits him, sending him flying into the wall at his back, behind the altar. Keenblade clatters to the floor next to him as lands and starts rolling desperately on the ground, trying to put out the flames that have caught to his clothes.  
"It burns! It burns!" his mind shrieks hysterically.  
He needs out of there! He can't face this! He can't!

He is so much in panic that he barely sees the other intruder until it is too late.  
Some sort of force field snaps around him, pinning him in place, upright and spread-eagled, smouldering clothes and all.  
Still in the grip of panic, Ronan struggles uncoordinately, trying to break free, trying to get away from this new enemy and the fire, but his efforts are useless.

"Fire is your weak spot, isn't it, betrayer?" a quiet voice says, close to his ear. The man slides into his field of view, pale, thin and leathery. Ronan recognises him from Gamora's description: Everyman.  
"An easy one at that... It must be a souvenir from the Great Temple..." he says almost sweetly as he leans towards him, but there is no warmth in his eyes or expression, only a cold, considering look, as if he is trying to find the best way to disassemble a piece of machinery.  
"Such a tragic story... - he comments, pressing a hand to his thin chest in mock-compassion - And guess what? History is going to repeat itself today..." he adds with unabashed glee.

The man snaps his fingers and another portal opens, disgorging a second fire - creature, right behind where Peter and Gamora are engaged against a group of invaders, and then a third, and a fourth.  
Ronan can only look in horror as they close in around his loved ones, blazing, and hissing, and spewing streams of flame.  
Gamora's dress catches on fire, the flames blaze, and her skin blackens and curls away from her cybernetics, and she screams, and screams, and Peter tackles her to the ground, trying to extinguish the flames, but one of the fire-creatures grabs him by the front of his tunic and lifts him up as easily as if he was a child.  
It laughs, hissing like a teakettle, and jabs a finger into one of his sky-blue eyes. It melts down Peter's face, and he shrieks in agony, and struggles against its unyielding, fiery hold, kicking and punching, vainly trying to break the creature's hold on him, but only manages to burn himself on its limbs, and the creature lifts its hands again, slowly, lazily moving its finger closer to Peter's remaining eye...

"NO! NO!" Ronan screams, struggling madly, trying to find a way, any way of breaking free of the force field.  
It can't... It can't be happening.  
"This is not real. Not real..." he repeats to himself, over and over. Tears stream down his face and cloud his vision, but he can still see them burn, he can still see them die.

"Yes... - the man hisses - Your loved ones are dying, and you can't do anything about it... Exactly like last time..." he whispers in his ear, his words tinged by cruel glee.  
"Look, betrayer... Watch to the end." he says, and Ronan can't help but obey. His eyes refuse to close, even if he'd rather tear them out of his head than watch the fire-creatures kill his loved ones slowly, agonisingly, with obscene glee.  
"Those are your people, are they not? - the man continues, pointing to where a knot of Kree warriors is defending one of the exits - They fight bravely. Very commendable." he comments, pleasantly enough.  
"As soon as my pets are done with your lovers, I'll trigger the fire-bombs hidden in the rafters. - the man continues smugly - We'll watch as they all die, betrayer, and then we'll go somewhere more intimate, just you and I... somewhere special... and I will burn your skin off your flesh, inch by inch, until you beg for sweet death..." he whispers heatedly, licking a trail of tears off the Kree's face with his cold, wet tongue. His frigid, bony hands rip the front of his shirt open almost to the waist and slowly run up and down his torso, in a horrid parody of lust.

Ronan is too shocked by the mention of fire-bombs, plural, hidden in the Temple to even be disgusted by what the man is doing to him, or worried about the certainty of torture.  
It only makes the man even more giddy with sadistic glee, to the point that he starts tittering to himself.  
"Ah, yes... Did you really think my master would have hedged all his bets on a simple frontal assault? - he asks - Bravo to you and your friends to have anticipated our surprise, but it's not going to make any difference." he reveals.  
"My troops are keeping your people bottled in here, you see? All those brave warriors... all those kings and rulers... They will all die here. - he declares extatically - The Universe will spiral into chaos, and my master will pick off the remnants. Armed with the Infinity Gems, he will bring an end to the senseless game we call life!" he concludes, revelling in his vision of destruction and death.  
"And you'll be there, watching, as everything dies... Isn't it wonderful?" the man asks, whipping out a small blowtorch from under his coat and turning it on.  
The flame burns a light, nearly transparent shade of blue, and it is so hot that when Everyman presses it to the bare skin of his chest, Ronan doesn't feel its heat, or pain. He feels cold and a strange sort of numbness, even though he can smell his own flesh burn.

It takes a moment after Everyman moves the blowtorch away for him to register the terrible, nauseating pain.  
He chokes on a scream, and Everyman starts tittering again.  
"I know... I know... I shouldn't have. But I couldn't help myself! - he exclaims - You are so tempting... so proud and brave..." he whispers, in what he must perceive as a seductive tone.  
"I'll reduce you to a mewling, begging wreck. - the man growls, abruptly switching mood as he digs his fingers into the raw, burned flesh on his chest - We're going to have so much fun together..."


	27. Chapter 27

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Warnings: this chapter contains language, sarcasm and violence.

Thanks to EmilyEverlasting, and diarmour for the reviews and the compliments. I am really humbled by the responses I am having to this fic.  
I am surely doing things right if people care enough about the characters to threaten to hunt me down if I kill them off...

Oh and by the way, if you like Ronan/Peter, you should definitely check out diarmour's fics "The Eternity of Everything" and "Cell 42" on AO3.

So, back to the story, in this chapter Spartax's very own Red Wedding continues and more surprises are in store for the Guardians!

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

When they get separated at the beginning of the battle, Gamora is not overly worried about Ronan. He is a born and bred warrior, fierce and fearless, and it makes sense to split up to cover more ground.  
As she engages with the blind Incursors, she loses track of him for a moment, too busy chopping the bendy, sinewy creatures down to size to look around.  
Next time she sees him, he is in the thick of it already, next to the main altar. She hears him shouting orders to his former subordinates and her heart leaps a bit in pride as she sees them rushing to obey. Peter is a proper prince, but Ronan seems no less regal at the moment.

"Admiring the scenery?" Peter teases, rushing in to steal her kill.  
"Did you manage to flash the whole Temple, already?" she teases back, giving his tunic a pointed look.  
Peter laughs and falls in step with her, thinning the herd of incoming targets to allow her to dispatch the rest with ease. A few steps away, Peter's father, Drax and Rocket are fighting in a similar unit, mowing down the Incursors almost as quickly as they come through the portals. Almost being the key word.  
Armed sentients are starting to appear as well, gleefully returning fire.  
"Bloody great..." Gamora comments quietly.

"We need to find the _ameter_ who keeps on opening these bloody portals and rip them a new one!" Helenai shouts, from where her and Gladiator are fighting. With the arrival of more sentient foes, the situation is becoming stickier by the minute.  
"I hear you, good-sister! - Gamora agrees - Any idea on who it might be?" she retorts, slicing yet one more surviving Incursor. Her dress is all stained with their oily black ichor.  
It's a pity, she really liked it.

"We have a reading!" one of the Nova shouts.  
"Rhomann Dey?! Fancy seeing you here!" Peter exclaims, as the knot of Xandarian soldiers picks its way closer to the Spartoi/Guardians mixed contingent.  
"Star-Lord! Who invited you at the wedding? And what the hell are you wearing?" Dey asks, as the two groups merge.  
"I'm the brother of the bride! - Peter retorts - And these clothes are fabulous, thank you very much." he adds sassily, without missing a beat. Dey looks flabbergasted.  
Gamora would have found it funny, if they weren't in the middle of a fight.  
"What did you say about that reading?" she asks.  
"Someone is phasing in and out all over the Temple. - Dey replies - Our sensors have been picking it up since this whole portal gig started. It might be them." he explains.  
"A phase-shifter?" Gamora enquires.  
"Seems most likely." Dey replies.  
"Everyman... - she whispers, feeling herself shiver with worry - It must be him."  
"And that's bad news, right?" Peter asks.  
"Very, very bad. He is a sadist." Gamora replies curtly.

"Everyone! Take cover!" someone shouts.  
Instinctively, Gamora hits the floor, dragging Peter down with her by the tunic.  
Flaming spheres fly over their head, hitting a few of the Xandarians and the Spartoi, those who were too slow to kiss the flagstones, and setting them on fire.  
"What the fuck is this?!" Rocket yells, brandishing one of his biggest guns.  
"I don't know!" Gamora yells back.  
A creature made of flames has appeared in the Temple and is sowing panic and confusion all over the place, giving Thanos' footsoldiers the openings they need to press their attack.  
The fiery newcomer is moving towards the altar, flowing rather than walking. As most of the Kree delegation has left with the non-combatant ladies, and the Skrulls have split from the group, Ronan has been left mostly alone up there, with just a few Accusers and officers.  
Faced with that flaming mostrosity, he seems frozen in terror.  
The creature seems to know it and launches a fireball towards him, setting his clothes on fire and throwing him against the far wall.

"Ronan! No!" Gamora screams, and tries to run towards him, heedless of the danger. She cannot leave him alone to face his worst fear. She has to help him, she tells herself.  
The flaming thing, however, seems to have a different idea of how things should pass, and turns back towards them, unleashing a heavy barrage of fireballs.  
"Gamora! Watch out!" Peter shouts, tackling her to the ground, just in the nick of time.  
"Hold your positions, soldiers of Spartax! - Helenai shouts - Concentrate your fire on the flaming bastard!" she instructs. The fire-creature retreats under the heavy barrage, giving the two time to regroup.  
"Ronan...he is..." Gamora gasps, more than a little panicky.  
"I know. - Peter replies, also quite shocked - We will help him. But focus! We need to get this guy sorted first." he warns, helping her to get back to her feet.  
Gamora nods, feeling exceedingly silly about her panic, but she cannot clear her head from the idea that something bad is happening. The fire-creature... and Everyman... she knows what he is capable of, and it does not bode well. It just does not.

Gritting her teeth, Gamora picks up her swords and gets back into the fray, slicing at the backup while the Praetorians shower the fire-thing with plasma bolts.  
It seems to be working, at least it has stopped it and prevented it from setting more stuff on fire, Gamora thinks. One of the Praetorians approaches, chanting and waving her hands, and a barrier of some sort starts to appear around the thing.  
"This should get it out of the way! - Gladiator shouts, while he holds the fire-thing up with his own self-produced plasma ray - We need to concentrate on this Everyman person! This circus has lasted long enough!" he instructs.  
It's a nice plan, a sound plan. Gamora couldn't agree more.  
But then three more fire-creatures appear out of the blue, and it all goes to hell.

The Shi'ar Praetorian who was raising the barrier is shot down by a fireball. The somewhat battered, original fire-bastard is free once more, and now they are facing four of them, and they are surrounded.  
"Shit! Isn't this place supposed to have a fucking fire-fighting system of some sort?!" Peter yells to no one in particular, exhasperated and frightened. Gamora ignores his attempt at humour.  
"Scatter! Don't give them an easy target!" she shouts instead, grabbing Peter's hand and dashing into an opening between two fire-creatures. They tumble out in the open, but as she rolls back to her feet, sword in hand, one of their foes has already managed to turn around, flowing like liquid fire, and there is nothing she can do to avoid the swing of his fiery hand.

"Oh, no! You don't!" Nebula yells, bulling into Gamora's side as she rains a hail of heavy ordnance against the creature. Explosive bullets, Gamora registers peripherically as she falls to the ground once again.  
That seems to give the thing some pause.  
Some... barely enough for the two sisters to get back to their feet and regroup with Peter.  
"Thanks..." Gamora pants, trying to form a defensive strategy. Those things are fast, and deadly, and very nearly immune to most of what the defenders can throw at them. How are they supposed to fight them?!  
"Any time now would be ideal, sweetheart!" Nebula shouts, completely out of context, leaving Gamora totally baffled.

Space distorts again, and a man in a green cape and bronze armour appears, drawing the attention of the fire-creature. The stranger is tall and lean, and looks like a Spartoi or maybe a Terran, with pale pink skin and shoulder-length dark hair.  
"Anything for my lady..." he drawls, smiling broadly, apparently unconcerned by the situation.  
With a theatrical flourish, the stranger produces a small, bright blue cube out of, well, apparently nowhere.  
The cube starts floating between his palms, and swells, from the size of maybe a die to at least a couple of inches by side. The stranger's skin turns bright blue, patterned in slightly paler ridges, like scarifications, highlighting his sharp, elegant features, and his eyes turn from bright, sparkling green to burning red.  
"A Kree?" Gamora thinks, blinking repeatedly. He even looks slightly like Ronan. It must be the high, sharp cheekbones, or the fact that they are both damn handsome.

"Johtunn!" the fire-thing roars, flowing furiously against the stranger.  
"Well, yes. And you're doomed." he drawls calmly.  
The air vibrates, high and sharp, almost musical, as the cube takes further life. An icy blast hits the fire-creature head-on and it _screams_ in agony as the man's power freezes it in place, making it crackle and splinter. Gamora has never heard a more beautiful sound.  
"I could use a hand, if you please..." the stranger says in a slightly strangled voice. The rest of the fire-creatures have converged on them, and look very, very angry. Well, as angry as a walking ball of fire can look.  
"Yes, right! Of course!" Peter exclaims, and starts shooting at the freezing one. Chips and chunks of ice start flying all around.  
"Move out!" Rocket shouts. Peter ducks as a massive projectile spews from the Raccoon's equally huge gun. The fire-creature shatters in a shower of icy shards that tinkle merrily on the ground.  
"Impressive, very impressive..." the stranger comments quietly, a pleased smile on his face.  
"You're not too bad either, Icicle!" Rocket exclaims, giggling to himself. His suit is all charred and his fur is standing on end. Now he looks a lot more like his usual self.

"Sorry to interrupt your male bonding moment, but we got three more to put in the ground!" Nebula yells, intercepting the charge of one of the fire-creatures with a hail of bullets.  
"Ah, bugger! - she exclaims in a moment, dropping her weapons - Out of ammo! Can we get a move?" she adds, unsheathing her knives.  
"Sorry, dear! - the stranger yells back - I was just greeting the in-laws!" he adds, chuckling quietly, as he blasts another fire-creature with his ice-ray.  
"They're not my family!" Nebula shouts, exhasperated.  
"Of course, love! - the stranger calls back, between gritted teeth - Can you just get those two out of my way?" he asks, jerking his head towards the other two fire-creatures.  
"On it! - Nebula agrees - Alright boys and girls! Let's keep those things busy until he's ready to put them down! " she orders.  
"Guardians! With me! - she adds, moving to intercept again - Furry, stay with Loki and blast those bastards when they're frozen!"  
"Hey! What gave the idea that you can call the shots?!" Rocket objects.  
"The fact that my boyfriend just saved your sorry arses?" Nebula retorts archly.  
"The crazy blue woman has a point." Drax intervenes calmly, stepping in to cover Nebula's side.  
"I am not crazy!" Nebula protests, but flows in the movement, allowing Gamora and Peter to swing out towards the other creature.  
"Oh, and congratulations, good-sister! - Peter intervenes as he passes close to Nebula - Did you meet him at Villains Anonymous?" he teases. Over the chaos of the battle, Gamora hears Nebula growl.  
"Can we can it for a while?! - Gamora shouts - Business first, banter later!" she chides.  
"Yes, shut your trap, Star-Lord!" Nebula yells.  
"Well, at least I can still agree on something with my sister... - Gamora thinks - Baby steps, as they say..." she muses wryly.


	28. Chapter 28

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to diarmour and for their reviews and to all the people who faved/followed this fic. We are well on the way towards 8k views. It's unbelievable!

But now let's get back to business and see how our favourite Kree is faring!

Warnings: this chapter contains language, angst, kind-of-suicidal thoughts, violence, gore and torture with overtones of sexual abuse.  
If you feel uncomfortable with any of these themes, you might want to consider skipping this chapter.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

The muscles in his arms and back ache from the strain of being suspended, feet dangling off the floor.  
The flesh on his chest is littered with deep, extensive burns. Everyman is patient and precise and seems to have some pattern in mind, because at times he pauses and steps back, admiring his handiwork, a pleased expression on his flushed face, and then adds some more touches, some more agony, muttering to himself. He works lower and lower, down his torso. His shirt is completely undone, and dangles untucked, stained with blood and the fluids seeping from his burned flesh, and Everyman has started to undo the fly on his trousers, planning further atrocities.  
Ronan notices all of this only vaguely.

It is not that he doesn't feel pain. His perception is flooded with it, a torment that is almost impossible to fathom, and yet it pales almost to nothing in comparison with the agony of his heart.  
Everyman might have lost track of the rest of the world, absorbed as he is in his present endeavour, but he hasn't.  
He could not.

Peter. Gamora.  
They were his masters, his lovers, his _meryw_. They were kind, and brave, and beautiful, and _Ma'at_ shone in their hearts.  
They lie dead now, reduced to little more than lumps of charred, disfigured flesh.  
Not two weeks before, he had promised Peter that he'd protect him, that he'd keep him safe.  
He'd meant it, but he's only been able to watch him die, instead, without being able to do anything to save him.

They're gone.

This is worse than any physical pain Everyman can inflict him.  
It makes him just want to give up. Why should he try and fight Thanos' will any longer? He has already won. Why shouldn't he just accept the death of all things? He has no reason to live anymore.  
He has failed.

Maybe he should just get away from it all, retreat to that quiet, empty place inside his mind where he has gone on Xandar, and then deeper still, into nothingness, leaving his battered carcass to fend for itself until the time comes, and he can be reunited with his loved ones in death.  
It would be easy to let go. He wouldn't even feel pain anymore.

Yes, it is tempting, but there is something... something to which it is increasingly hard to hold on to... that keeps him anchored to consciousness, that insists that there is still something he needs to do before he he can lay down in sweet oblivion.  
What is it? What is he forgetting?  
His thoughts become more and more blurry as his system starts to shut down and go into deep shock to spare him from the torment.  
He reaches out for that something, grasps with all his remaining strength.

There were two smiling children holding hands, tan and purple skin juxtaposed.  
There was a young man from his people, his arm wrapped protectively around the shoulders of an older woman, an old enemy.  
There were women, standing in circle, hands joined.  
There were two lovers , standing together, against all odds. There was a promise, a blessing.  
There was peace, and it was _Ma'at_.  
It was something worth living for, something worth fighting for.  
And now it is in danger.

"The fire-bombs!" Ronan thinks, and suddenly he remembers everything.  
He is fully conscious, fully there, in his wounded, burned flesh. The pain returns in full force, tearing a mewling whimper from his lips.  
"Ah, yes! Such beautiful sounds you make, betrayer..." Everyman coos, slipping a hand inside Ronan's trousers and starting to fondle his cock. It's like having a cold, dead fish writhe against him, slimy and disgusting.  
However pleasing the idea of puking on the man might be, Ronan clamps down on his surge of revulsion. He needs to keep Everyman focused on him while he finds a way of breaking out of the contention field.

"Soon you will see... soon you will understand why our master is doing this. He is saving us all, don't you understand? - Everyman pants, rubbing his crotch against Ronan's leg - Life is a lie. It has no purpose but to perpetuate itself. It is chaos and pain, and exploitment of one life-form over another. Death his the only cure. There will finally be order. There will be harmony. There will be perpetual peace. The Universe will be pristine, like at the beginning of the times." he raves, breathing hard against his face.

Ronan knows his words to be a lie. The death of everything is not peace, or harmony, it is just nothingness, the absence of anything.  
It is not _Ma'at_.  
_Ma'at_ is Balance. It lies in the coexistence of birth and death, dark and light, chaos and order, mercy and justice, war and peace. It lies in recognising that the entire Universe is one, linked together by invisible ties and that harming one small part of it, damages it all.  
If life has no meaning, it is by design, so that each sentient can create one for themselves, so that in search of answers, each one of them can find _Ma'at_ inside themselves.  
Life is not easy, it is not meant to be, but no one is truly alone, not even him, not even now.  
Peter and Gamora might be gone, but he still has someone to fight for: Rocket, Drax and Little Groot, Helenai and Gladiator, and Peter's father, and the Kree warriors that used to take orders from him, everyone who is still left in the Temple, and ultimately the entire Universe, put in jeopardy by the machinations of a few heartless, stupid bastards.  
He will not abandon them.

Just thinking about his lost loved ones makes tears flow down his face, and, unfortunately, Everyman is turned on by the sight of it.  
"You're so pretty when you cry..." he hisses, grabbing Ronan's chin and standing on tiptoes to lick his face. His neck is forced none-too-gently at an angle, and it is quite painful, but it turns out to be a blessing in disguise.  
Keenblade is lying on the floor, not three paces away, still inside the circle of whatever barrier Everyman is using to keep them isolated from the rest of the Temple. The glyphs on blade and haft burn redder than ever, as if the _labyrs_ was sensing the wrongness, the injustice of it all and was manifesting its anger. Ronan can almost feel it thrum, just at the edge of his perception. It thirsts for Everyman's blood.  
If only he could get to it, if only he could somehow reach it... he thinks, but the force-field wouldn't budge.  
It is maddening, and there is nothing he can do about it. If he still had the Universal Weapon, he could have tried to activate its energy blast with his willpower, it wasn't any easy, but it had saved his life and that of his comrades a couple of times. Keenblade, however, though not less powerful, is different from his old weapon. He is impotent.

_"Are you really, mary-anni?_ _Or are you just giving yourself an excuse to give up?_" a familiar voice echoes in his head. It sounds stern and steely like his grandfather. The old man had said it so many times that it must have been engraved in his memory.  
And no, it isn't an excuse, Ronan thinks. He truly has no way out. Keenblade is close, but out of reach as if it was on the other side of the Universe. He can't reach out for it. It doesn't have that power.  
_"True power is not in your weapon, but in your hands."_ another snippet of memory declares, with the voice of his old, long-dead weapons-master.  
"Is it?" Ronan asks himself.  
He remembers his fellow Accusers gape, sometimes, at the things he could do with his old warhammer. Apparently the Universal Weapon had never worked like that before, but it did for him. He had coaxed out its power, just as the weapon had done the same to him, pushing him to be worthy of it.  
He knows he hasn't delved as deep in Keenblade's secrets, he hasn't really had the time, or the same mad drive for proving himself that he had had in his youth.

Maybe there is a way.

He tries to concentrate on the call of the _labyrs_ in his mind, but it is hard to clear away the pain, and the lustful whispers of his captor, and the disgusting touch of his filthy hands.  
"I like how tears streak your face... - Everyman is saying, trailing a finger down his cheeks - Grief makes you beautiful, betrayer..." he adds sweetly.  
Ronan grits his teeth and gives him his best baleful stare.  
"You are _isfet._ You are an abomination." he thinks briefly, but keeps quiet. He doesn't want to give the bastard any clue about what he is going to do.

He focuses on the thought that he is going to kill that pervert, not for vengeance, because his death is not going to bring Peter and Gamora back, but so that he cannot harm anyone else in his selfish quest for annihilation. He is going to be a servant of _Ma'at_ one last time before the end, and he needs Keenblade's help.  
He can feel the _labyrs_ growing closer in his mind, thrumming, almost singing in the joy of impending reunion until suddenly, there it is, quietly burning in fury, as solid as if he was holding it in his hands.  
_"I am Keenblade. My edge will never dull as long as I am used in justice_.  
_I am the protector of the meek, the overthrower of tyrants.  
I break the chains of the oppressed and free the just from the shackles of injustice._" it whispers. The words flow through his mind, bypassing his hearing and, Ronan understands. He knows how to stop Everyman now.

"Oh, no! This defiant air won't do!" the man protests, slapping him hard on his face. He can taste blood in his mouth, but his mental hold on Keenblade doesn't waver.  
Everyman must sense that something has changed in him, that he is no longer on the verge of breakdown anymore, and he is not pleased. His bland face scrunches into a grimace, like that of a child on the verge of a tantrum.  
"You think you are in a position to defy me, eh? - he hisses - You are wrong, betrayer. There is only you and me here. No one is going to save you. You are my plaything... And I'll just have to find another way to make you beautiful again..." he threatens.

Ronan chooses to ignore him, even as Everyman pulls out the blowtorch again and his heart starts racing in panic. He holds on to the power he has found in Keenblade, and gently pushes it into wrapping around the tendrils of the contention field, looping around them like strangler vines. He can almost taste freedom again.  
Everyman grabs his chin and raises the blowtorch towards his face. He can feel the heat pouring out of it, and tries to shy away from it in reflex, breathing fast and convulsively in anticipation of more pain.  
"I wouldn't do this if I were you, my toy... - Everyman whispers, giving his face another lick, close to the corner of his lips - I'd stay very, very still. There is still so much I want to show you... I would hate to put out your pretty blue eyes by mistake." he continues, pressing the flame closer and closer.  
Ronan closes his eyes and clenches his teeth. It is going to hurt a lot, possibly more than anything he has ever experienced before, and he can't avoid it, but he can't, he must not let go of Keenblade.  
No matter what, he will prevail, he tells himself.

The flame bites into his skin, just below his left eye, cold and numbing, and then pain lances through him, blinding, sickening, and he hears himself scream.  
The flame scores a path down his cheek, like tears, ending on his chin, close to his lips, and Everyman makes it slow and agonising, chuckling and cooing all the way.  
Ronan holds onto the blue-red swirling power that has latched onto his soul, drawing from it the strenght he needs to keep still, to stay sane.  
"Soon, soon... you'll make justice for this." the _labyrs_ seems to be saying and he holds on, even as Everyman says: "Uhmmm... almost there..." and moves to the other side of his face, etching a symmetrical design onto his flesh and blood.

Eventually, after a time he cannot count, Everyman steps back, and Ronan hangs limply from the contention field, drained of almost all strength by the agony coursing through him. He can barely see though his pain, and blood is dripping to the floor from his ruined face.  
"Ah, yes, now it's much better. - Everyman purrs excitedly, putting down the blowtorch - I like you bloody and defeated. You're still not perfect, my pet, but we'll work on it...You will beg me to burn you more before I'm finished with you..." he promises.  
"Go to hell, servant of _isfet_!" Ronan growls, and finally releases the power of the _labyrs_.  
The contention field is chopped apart and Ronan, finally free, drops to the ground on his hands and knees. A flex of will and Keenblade slides into his hands and he is rising, unheeding of the pain and the light-headedness, his _labyrs_ held tightly in both hands.

Caught by surprise, Everyman tries to protect himself by throwing his hands in front of his face, but the blow is coming low, instead, rising with Ronan's movement, and catches the pervert between his legs, crushing his pelvis and destroying everything in its path. Everyman screams and falls, but to his credit, still tries to activate the switch that would trigger the fire-bombs.  
Ronan kicks it out of his trembling hands and raises his _labyrs_ once more. Even though he claimed to yearn for death, Everyman raises his hands once again in front of his face in a futile attempt at protecting himself.  
Keenblade doesn't care. It chops through flesh and bone as if they were straws, and purrs in joy, drinking the blood of the torturer, spattering it all over the floor and Ronan's clothes.  
Everyman's head splits open like an overripe melon. He will never harm anyone anymore.

Now that he has completed his task, Ronan feels a bout of vertigo overwhelm him. His legs fold underneath him and he finds himself on the floor, without quite knowing how he got there. All his limbs feel weak and watery and the pain... now that he has nothing else to focus on, it is so intense that he can hardly breathe.  
He would like noting better than to just lie there, and wait for death to reunite him with his _meryw_, but something is quietly beeping not far from him, and he realises that is mission is not over.

Slowly, agonisingly, he drags himself towards the source of the noise.  
It is the switch. It is quietly counting down the minutes to the destruction of the Temple and all that are in it. Only fifteen minutes are left.  
Everyman must have had the time to activate it, or it might have been running from the start of the attack, as a failsafe measure.  
Only fifteen minutes.  
He has to find the bombs and stop them.  
Fifteen bloodly minutes, he thinks, as he pushes himself to his feet, using the _labyrs'_ long haft as a support.

The barrier that kept that corner of the Temple isolated from the main battle falls apart at the mere touch of Keenblade's blooded edge, and Ronan finds himself suddenly in the midst of the battle.  
Corpses are strewn all over the flagstones, the blind creatures from the first wave, Thanos' men and some unlucky defenders, but the latter have clearly had the upper hand, and the fighting is mostly confined to the central nave, where a group of warriors is finishing off the last fire-creature.  
Ronan starts to limp in that direction, but then catches a glimpse of a slightly charred red dress and of long tanned legs, barely covered by a ridiculously short and sexy colourful tunic. His heart beats faster and faster, pumping more strength in his tired limbs, and even if he has seen them die, he cannot help wanting to believe that what Everyman had shown him was just an illusion.

He runs, forgetting his injuries, he charges towards the last fire-creature, which is close, far too close to his loved ones, and as it freezes under the power of one of the other warriors, he hits it with all his might and all his rage, and it shatters in a thousand pieces.  
"Ronan!" Peter and Gamora call out. Strong arms and soft hands support him as he falters, and he can even smell their scent, faintly over the stench of blood and fire of the battle. He lets them support him as his legs threathen to buckle again.  
Either he is too good at deceiving himself, or they are real, and alive, and, may Pama forgive his weakness, he needs to believe that they are.


	29. Chapter 29

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to , importchic and booknerd95 for their reviews and to all the people who faved/followed this fic. You guys are amazing!

Warnings: this chapter contains language, angst, violence and a little bit of gore.  
If you feel uncomfortable with any of these themes, you might want to consider skipping this chapter.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

They are down to the last fire-creature when they can feel another shift in reality. Something huge has happened, and Peter cannot help but worry about what else that omnicidal maniac is going to send after them.  
Loki seems exhausted by all the freezing and dodging he has been doing, and his pretty face is peppered with burns from when one of the creatures has nearly caught him. Rocket is nearly out of bullets, and so is him, and so are the Nova officers, while most of the other warriors, including the newlyweds, are bone-weary and at least a bit injured. If whatever comes next is worse than the flaming giants, they are all doomed, he thinks.

"The portals!" Rhomann Dey exclaims.  
"What about them?!" Peter retorts, emptying another load of ammo into the face of a death-seeker.  
"They are gone!" Dey announces.  
"What?! Are you serious?!" Peter exclaims, so tired that he can't even manage some enthusiasm.  
"Yes! Positive! - Dey replies - The distortion has stabilised to background levels. Even the shift has disappeared!"  
Peter blinks a few times, trying to make sense of the good news. He casts a glance in the direction of the Skrull, but they are still having at a group of death-seekers and seem none the wiser about the latest developments. Then who?  
"Hey! Can we focus on the task at hand?! Pretty please!" Loki exclaims, struggling to nail down the creature with his freezing powers. The creature has eluded their attempts to contain it several times already, breaking out from half-formed ice caps and slipping away through the Temple, but this time the ice seems to stick, at least for a moment.  
"Watch out!" Rocket shouts. Peter ducks, thinking he is going to shoot, but instead something charges in with a roared battle-cry and smashes the frozen fire-creature into finger-sized bits with a single blow, effectively ending the battle.

"Well, took you long enough, you crazy blue... - Rocket starts to comment in his usual acerbic tone, but his voice dies off - Oh shit, man! What?!... what the fuck happened to you?!" he adds, and now he is clearly worried, almost hysterical.  
Peter jumps to his feet and is moving even before he knows what he is doing.  
"Ronan!" he shouts.  
Gamora is right beside him and they catch him as he staggers and nearly falls.  
"Gods... bluebell, what did they do to you?" Peter whispers, feeling his eyes fill with tears and his heart fill with anger. He doesn't even know how to hold him to avoid causing any more harm. There is so much that is wrong with him...  
His clothes are all torn and stained with blood and his upper body is patterned with deep, fresh burns, weeping blood and fluids. Twin burns run down his face, from below his eyes down to his chin.  
It is too precise to be an accident of the battle. It was intentional. Someone did this to him on purpose.

Ronan smiles when he sees them, though it must hurt like crazy.  
"Peter... Gamora... - he rasps - You are alive... and whole." he adds, raising a hand to Peter's face and brushing his cheek with the gentlest touch.  
"Are you... real? This is not an illusion, right?" he adds, looking rather lost and desperate for some reassurance.  
"What the hell did those bastards do to him?" Peter thinks.  
"We're here, love. - Gamora says, trying to hold back tears - It's all over. You're safe." she promises, and tries to guide Ronan to lie down on the floor, but he is resisting and trying to keep to his feet.  
"It was Everyman." Loki intervenes quietly, still wearing his blue face. There us something in his red eyes that tells Peter that their newest buddy has some history with this Everyman guy, and not of the nice kind.  
Ronan nods. "He is dead. I killed him. He can't hurt anyone anymore." he declares. Peter can see a flash of something pass on Gamora's face, but this is not the time to pursue matters of that kind.  
"Bluebell, listen. The battle is over. We have won. - he whispers to Ronan, who is still trying to stand on his own two feet - You are safe. We'll take care of you. Just lie down. We'll get a doctor. You'll be fine." he promises.

He will, he tells himself, he has to be.  
When they hit him with the power of the Orb, he looked even more jacked up than he does now, and he was absolutely fine afterwards, without even a scar, he reasons.  
But last time he was an enemy, a crazy wannabe genocidal maniac. Seeing him in pain like this now, even if it might be less than last time, seeing him lost, makes his own heart bleed and ache.  
He should have watched his back, he should have made sure that he was safe. Ronan would have done nothing less for him.

"No... Peter... Can't lie down... - Ronan protests, brandishing something that looks an awful lot like a detonator - There are fire-bombs in the Temple. In the rafters... we need to..." he tries to explain.  
"Oh fuck!" Rocket exclaims, and by the horrified looks on their faces, the Nova heartily agree with his assessment.  
"We need to find them and deactivate them." Ronan manages to conclude, straightnening fully. He seems to have found some last reserve of energy somewhere.  
"We only have twelve minutes left. Let's just evacuate the Temple, instead." Rhomann Dey proposes. The Spartoi start to protest, and with reason. This is their most sacred place, if the bombs go off, it will be completely obliterated, and with it priceless works of art and millennia of history.  
Ronan raises his hand in command and the quarreling stops.  
"No. We can't let Thanos destroy more of our cultures, or of the things we love. - he declares solemnly - Evacuate everyone not involved in the search. This is volunteers only. If we fail, we die." he adds.  
No one moves to go away, not even Rocket, who usually is the most attached to his personal safety.

Ronan manages a smile.  
"Alright, warriors. We'll split in teams and spread out. - he instructs - Denaarian Dey, do you Nova still have chemical scanners hidden in your uniforms, like back in the day?" he asks almost as an afterthought.  
Dey makes a surprised face, probably asking himself how he knows, but eventually nods.  
"Set them to scan for flammables. I want one of you in each team. - Ronan orders and the Nova officer doesn't hesitate a moment in relaying his order to his men - Dey, you come with me and the Guardians. The rest of you, if you find the bombs, contact Rocket, Peter or Emperor J'son. Don't touch them if you don't know how to defuse heavy ordnance." he adds.  
There are nods and grim faces all around and for once no one complains about taking orders from someome else, not even Helenai, or Nebula.  
It might be the fact that it is an emergency, or maybe it is because his crazy blue boyfriend is a damn natural leader even when he looks like death warmed over, Peter muses.

"May your gods guide you." Ronan says and everyone starts running for the closest staircase, heading to the matroneum.  
"You can't possibly run like this!" Peter protests when Ronan sways on his feet again.  
"I wasn't planning to. - he declares - Hold on to me and brace for impact." he instructs, somewhat enigmatically.  
Peter does as told, as do the rest of the Guardians, and grabs Dey by the collar, just in time, as all of them start _falling_ towards the ceiling.  
"Whaaaa!" Peter exclaims, feeling his center of gravity realign with a nauseating shift.  
"What the fuck did you do?" Rocket yells as they land quite hard on the ceiling.  
"Local negation of gravity. - Ronan replies - I'll explain later. Let's move!" he orders, stumbling forward across the ceiling and towards the edge of the matroneum.  
"Oh, crap! It looks like we have found them!" Rocket and Dey exclaim almost at once.  
They are not exactly hard to find, Peter muses, feeling his heart sink in dismay. They are a bit everywhere across the upper floor, tied around the structural pillars, along the walls and clustered in the center of the floor. All teams have frozen in place, paralyzed by the magnitude of the task.  
"Well, shit..." Peter thinks, whistling under his breath.

"But we have combed this place so many times! Last time this morning! - Helenai protests - How is it possible that we didn't see them?!" she asks, her eyes going a bit wide in desperation.  
"They must have been here all the time, just they were phase-shifted. - Ronan replies - We can stil defuse them. We have ten minutes left!" he encourages.  
Gravity shifts again, and they drop to the floor of the matroneum. Ronan's legs buckle and he falls to his knees with a pained gasp.  
Rocket, hesitates a moment, then runs off to the main cluster of bombs, muttering curses under his breath.  
"Go with him, Peter. And you too, Dey. - Ronan manages to say - There might be more than one control system. He'll need help."  
Peter hesitates.  
"I'll survive, _meri._ \- Ronan whispers, grabbing him by a wrist - I'll take a breather and go myself in a moment. We can't stop now." he adds. Behind him, Gamora and Drax nod. They'll take care of him.

Peter nods in turn and makes to stand, nearly bumping into Loki and Nebula.  
"Wait, comrades! Don't defuse them. - he exclaims - We have a better plan." he reveals, and there is a dangerous light in his eyes.  
"What plan?" Gamora asks, also looking quite intense.  
"Our father left the newlyweds an unwanted marriage gift. We'll return it to the sender." Nebula explains.  
Peter blinks in confusion.  
"How?" he asks, echoed by Gamora and Drax.  
Surprisingly, the answer comes from Ronan.  
"He is carrying one of the Infinity Gems." the Kree says, nodding towards Loki.  
The Johtunn nods and slips the glowing blue cube out of his coat again.  
"It is the Tesseract, the Gem of Space. - he reveals - How did you know?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.  
"We all carried the Gem of Power, for a while. It feels familiar." Ronan replies.

Peter nods, but only to keep a united front.  
Now that it has been pointed out to him, he kind of feels something odd, like a 'deja-felt' if they even exist, but, to be honest, he had not noticed anything earlier. But then again, he had carried the Orb uncovered only for a few seconds, while Ronan had it whispering destruction in his ear for at least a couple of days.

"Do you think you can teleport all the bombs to Thanos at once?" Ronan asks.  
Loki nods. "With this? Easily. - he replies - We can get there, drop them and get back before he can react."  
"We?" Gamora asks.  
"Loki and me. - Nebula replies - I want him to know that he can no longer torment us with impunity." she adds, clenching her metal hand in anger.  
Peter finds himself nodding. It is high time that the crazy fucker gets some comeuppance.  
"I am coming too." Gamora declares.  
Nebula and Loki nod.  
"Of course. - Loki agrees - What about you, Ronan? Are you willing to defy him?" he asks.  
"Until my last breath." the Kree replies, pushing himself back to his feet.  
"Good. - Loki comments with smugness - Then we should get going."  
"Wait! I am coming too!" Peter exclaims. He wants to see Thanos' face when he realises that somehow they are going to stop him for good.  
"Fair enough. - Loki agrees - Anyone else?" he asks calmly, then turns towards the rest of the crowd.  
"Is there anyone else who wants to tell Thanos that we are no longer his toys? That we have stopped playing his game? That we are free?" he shouts, raising his fist, clenched around the Tesseract, to the sky.  
A chorus of yells rises from the ranks of the defenders.  
"Then leave that detonator be and come here! - Loki orders - Hold on to me! We are going to throw the chains in his face!" he adds.

Peter grabs Ronan's hand and Loki's arm, as more and more people gather close, forming a multi-species, multi-coloured chain.  
There is Rocket, Helenai and Gladiator, Emperor J'son and Emperor Kl'rt, Rhomann Dey and a few others whose names escape him. All have the same look in their eyes, like they have never been so pissed off before.  
"Ready, comrades? - Loki asks with a grin - Then brace yourselves! We go!" he announces gleefully.

Peter feels reality shift all around him in a swirl of blue and silver. He is aware of Ronan and Gamora close to him, of Rocket's hand clenched on the back of his tunic, but everything else is blurry and distorted, at the same time impossibly close and inconceivably distant.  
It is a very disorienting feeling and he is starting to feel rather queasy, when suddenly all motion ceases and the entire group of them appears on what looks like an asteroid, stranded in the middle of space. The stars are clear and so close that Peter thinks he might almost be able to touch them, and the silence is deep and velvety, almost complete. A massive throne stands at one end of the asteroid, turned away from them.  
"Wow! - Peter thinks - The dude must be huge..."

"Who dares to disturb me?!" Thanos growls, and his voice is so deep that Peter feels it thrum in his bones. The throne turns.  
Thanos is sitting calmly and confidently, arrogantly even, as if he knew that no one can really represent a threat to him.  
He is actually huge, enormously tall and broad, and clad in some sort of golden armour that makes him look even bigger and more majestic. Eyes black as the void glitter with malice from his thick-featured, purple face.  
Peter admits he is usually fearless to the point of idiocy, but even he feels a bit intimidated by the Mad Titan.

"Greetings, 'father'. - Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm - We were passing by, and thought you'd appreciate the visit..." he mocks.  
"My traitorous children... and some pitiful would-be-heroes... - Thanos comments disdainfully - Pathetic! Do you think you can defy me?" he challenges, motioning to stand up.  
Peter feels a bit of a shiver go through him, but Loki doesn't lose his cool.  
"Actually, yes." he replies, smiling broadly.  
Space distorts again in a silver-blue swirl, depositing all the fire-bombs between them and Thanos.  
"Now!" Loki commands.  
Two things happen at once. Ronan presses the button on the detonator, a bloodthirsty grin on his face, and Loki re-activates the Tesseract, yelling an ironic "Farewell!".  
The feeling of displacement hooks him again, but before they completwly disappear from Thanos' _buen retiro_, Peter thinks he sees the Mad Titan's fathomless black eyes go wide, and his prominent jaw slacken in astonishment.  
He imagines he can hear the asteroid go kaboom from the other side of the Galaxy. It sounds good.

"That was awesome!" Rocket yells as soon as they reappear in the empty Temple on Spartax.  
"You're my new favourite in-law!" he adds, clapping Loki on the back.  
A shy smile appears on the Johtunn's handsome face.  
"Thanks. - he retorts - I don't think we have managed to kill him, though." he adds apologetically.  
"It must have hurt a lot, at least." Nebula comments with a shrug.  
"We made him taste his own medicine. - Ronan declares - And now he knows we are in earnest." he adds, faltering again.  
"Are we really going to fight against that _thing_? - Dey asks with dismay - I mean, have you seen him? He looks like he could eat us for breakfast!"

Pointed looks are exchanged all around the group.  
"Well, yes." Gladiator replies.  
"Of course." Helenai echoes.  
"It's not gonna be easy, but hey! We can't really let him do as he pleases, can we?" Rocket chimes in.  
Emperor J'son nods and Kl'rt cracks his stony knuckles.  
"No one calls me pathetic!" the Skrull declares.  
"We are not just going to fight him, we are going to destroy him." Nebula clarifies.  
"We are going to put an end to his selfish games." Gamora adds, gently squeezing Ronan's hand.  
"We will stand together. All of us, like we did today." Peter intervenes.  
"We will gather the Infinity Gems, all of them, like in the beginning of times. And together, we will give him what he most desires: death. - Ronan reveals - We will make him pay for all the crimes he committed against all life in this Universe. We will restore _Ma'at,_ and end this mad spiral of war once and for all. Together, we can do it." he declares quietly.  
The switch for the bombs slips from his fingers, shattering on the floor, and his legs buckle.  
He doesn't land facefirst on the floor only because Peter, Gamora and Drax are holding him. He must have been going on out of pure strength of will.

"I think I am going to pass out." Ronan declares, surprisingly calm.  
"It's alright, bluebell. We got you." Peter whispers, helping Drax to help him lie down.  
"You're safe, love. You saved us all. You can let go, now. Rest, we'll guard you." Gamora adds, letting him lay his head on her lap.  
Ronan manages a smile before he actually passes out.


	30. Chapter 30

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to , Raptowen and diarmour for their reviews and to all the people who faved/followed this fic. You guys are amazing!  
Raptowen, I'm seriously thinking about implementing your suggestion in a later chapter.

Warnings: this chapter contains mostly fluff and angst.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

Ronan wakes up to the soft sound of Peter's Terran music.  
It's not an uncommon occurence in his new life with the Guardians. Peter loves music and plays it in all sorts of occasions, not always appropriately.  
In time, Ronan has grown to love it too, at least some of it, to the point of knowing the words of some songs by heart even before he knew what they meant, and of singing them along, under his breath, while performing his chores on the Milano.  
It is a reassuring sound, it is like a piece of home, and it keeps him calm even as if the rest of his sensorial inputs do their best to disorient him and his recollections of the immediate past are vague and hazy. He barely remembers what happened before he fell asleep. His thoughts are sluggish and unfocused, as if he had been badly concussed, but his head doesn't hurt.

He is lying on a bed, in a place that smells like disinfectant. Some kind of machine is quietly beeping next to the bed, and if he concentrates, he can feel some sort of drip or cannula taped against the back of his left hand.  
His body feels numb and heavy. He knows he should be in pain, but the feeling is remote from him, detached, unimportant. Two thoughts pop into his mind. One is that he must have been injured quite seriously, the other is that wherever he is, they have some very good painkillers.  
He is in a hospital, that much is clear, but where?  
He tries to open his eyes and spy his surroundings, only to find out that he can't. They are kept shut with some kind of gauze pad. Most of his face is rigid with banadages, as are his torso and forearms. What the hell has happened to him?

Warm, slightly rough hands press against his shoulders, preventing him from trying to sit up.  
"Shhh... it's alright bluebell. You're safe." Peter whispers.  
Instinctively, Ronan raises his right hand towards his voice and tries to take hold of him. He must miss wildly, but one of Peter's hands tangles with his and guides it towards the Terran's face.  
Ronan feels warm, soft skin with a hint of prickly stubble, and slides his fingers all over Peter's handsome face, to reassure himself that he is whole and uninjured. Here and there he can feel the slight ridge of a graze or minor cut, but it is nothing serious. He lets out a sigh of relief.  
"Peter... _mery_..." he rasps. His throat feels raw and parched, so dry that speaking nearly hurts.  
"I'm here." Peter reassures. He sits on the edge of the bed, as close as possible to Ronan. He bets Peter needs reassurance too.  
"It's alright..." Peter says but his voice betrays him. He is not alright. He still sounds scared and worried.  
"Here, have some water." he offers. Something hard and cool presses against his lips, probably the egde of a glass, and Peter holds his head up as he takes a tentative sip. It is just water, but it tastes heavenly and he drinks some more, almost greedily. He had not realised he was so thirsty.  
"That's enough for now. - Peter decrees after a moment, taking the glass away. - I'll give you more later. I don't want to make you sick." he adds gently.  
Ronan acquiesces without protest. He is feeling thirsty, but he knows they are probably giving him IV hydration, so he can do without more water for a little while.

"Where...? Where are we? I..." he asks instead, slightly worried by his inability to remember how he got injured. Judging from how bad he is feeling now, it must have been a pretty memorable experience. Has his memory been permanently damaged? Or is he still in shock?  
"We are at the hospital, in Lakedaimon." Peter replies.  
"Oh..." Ronan says. Flashes of memories shower his mind, most of them unpleasant.  
Fire and pain, Peter dying, Gamora dying, the fire-bombs and Thanos... a whimper escapes him at the thought and he tangles his fingers in Peter's hair in his blind need for something to hold on to.

No, he tells himself, Peter is here. He is alive, and whole. His face is perfect as it always was, he has felt it... and his voice, and his scent... it is all real.  
The things he saw in the Temple... they were illusions, created by Everyman to break him. They don't matter.  
He has defeated that servant of _isfet_, killed him, splattered his twisted brains all over the floor of the Temple. The bombs have been found and used against Thanos. _Ma'at_ still reigns. They have won.  
_This_ is real.

"It's okay. It's alright if you don't remember everything. - Peter whispers, placing his warm hand over Ronan's - The doctors said you'd wake up confused and disoriented. It's because of the drugs they gave you." he explains.  
"I... I do remember. - Ronan whispers - I thought I had lost you." he adds.  
"I am not going anywhere without you." Peter retorts, leaning towards him.  
Ronan feels his warm breath on the un-bandaged bits of his face, then Peter presses their lips together. It's a soft, gentle kiss, but Ronan needs him more than he needs air to breathe. He tries to deepen the kiss and the burns on his face stretch and sting under the bandages but he doesn't care. He only cares that Peter is there. He is never, ever going to let go of either of his _meryw_ ever again.

"Where is Gamora?" he asks when they finally separate. Their hands are entwined on the sheets and neither seems to be intentioned to disentangle them.  
"Coffe run. She left literally seconds before you woke up." Peter replies, gliding the fingers of his other hand on the few bits of his skin left uncovered by bandages. The drugs numb even that feeling, but not completely, not enough to prevent him from shivering in delight.  
Peter stops. "I... sorry. I didn't..." he stammers apologetically, misunderstanding his reaction.  
"Don't. You're not hurting me. - Ronan whispers - It feels good. Don't stop. Please..." he nearly whines.  
He wants to do the same to Peter, but there are far too many clothes in the way, layers and layers, and he doesn't like that. He wants to feel him, wrap himself in his warmth and scent and just bask in them for a while.  
Groping blindly, he manages to untuck Peter's shirt and slide a hand underneath it.  
It will do, for now, he tells himself, resisting the impulse of trying to get him out of his bloody shirt and jacket and sating his hunger for contact and reassurance.

" You are so beautiful, Peter Quill... - he whispers - I wish I could look at you... at least one more time." he adds wistfully.  
He remembers he could still see, after he had killed Everyman. His sight was somewhat blurry however, and now the doctors have decided to bandage his eyes shut... concepts like delayed tissue damage and actinic burns pass through his mind.  
There is a non-zero possibility that he might have lost his sight because of what Everyman did to him. The possibility however doesn't scare him remotely as much as losing Peter and Gamora.  
He can learn to live without his sight, or get some cybernetics wired in and step back into the fray, but there would have been no way for him to cope with a loss of that magnitude.

"You will. You haven't lost your sight, bluebell. - Peter reassures him, tracing his fingers over Ronan's brow - The doctors said the tissue close to the burns around your eyes was very irritated and they didn't want you to rub it, or scratch it when you awoke. It's going to be alright, promise." he adds softly, bending to place a kiss on his brow.  
Ronan sighs in relief and tilts his head, searching for another kiss, which promptly arrives.  
"Then, as soon as we are out of here, I will strip you naked, and feast my eyes upon your fair form." he whispers, lightly scratching his fingernails under Peter's shirt.  
The Terran gasps slightly. It is a heavenly sound. He can't help wanting to hear him make more. Slipping his other hand under Peter's shirt seems like the most viable plan to give them both the solace they need.

The door opens. Ronan stops in his tracks for a moment, and turns towards the sound, for all the good that it can do to him at the moment.  
"Peter, I've..." Gamora starts quietly, only to stop in her tracks with a sharp intake of breath.  
"You are awake!" she exclaims. There is a sound like something has been hastily deposited on a hard surface, then fast steps, then Gamora sits on the edge of the bed on the other side of Ronan and her warm hands are on him. He takes his own out of Peter's shirt, and slides them over her warm, smooth skin, up her arms and back and up to her lovely, unblemished face.  
Real. Also real and whole, he reassures himself, sighing in relief.

"Oh, gods, I was so worried... - she whispers, taking one of his hands and kissing it almost reverently - The doctors said you were going to be alright, but you wouldn't wake up..." she explains. Her voice is brittle, and something wet drips on his knuckles.  
"I'll be fine, _merit_. - Ronan rasps, wiping her tears off her face by touch only. - As long as you two are safe, and here with me, I will always be fine." he reassures her.  
"I don't want to lose you. Neither of you two." Gamora whispers. Ronan feels the bed shift and imagines that she must have leaned across the bed to hold Peter at the same time.  
"No one here is going to lose anyone. - Peter declares but his voice feels a bit shaky - We'll pull this stunt off, and then we'll live free, together, until we're all old, and grey, and totally bored of each other." he adds.  
"This is never going to happen. - Gamora replies, marginally more cheerful - You are too crazy to ever become boring." she explains.  
Peter forces a laugh.  
"And at the rate we're going, I doubt we'll live to forty anyway..." he quips, but his joke feels forced and there is an undercurrent of genuine worry in his words.

"He knows. Thanos knows about us. - Ronan reveals - Everyman showed me illusions. You... you _died_ in them. His minions killed you." he adds, and even if he knows that it has never really happened, his voice trembles nonetheless, and tears prickle his eyes under the bandages.  
Peter reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.  
"It's over now. He's dead. We all made it." he says quietly but steadily.  
"I know... but it seemed so real... And it hurt so much..." Ronan sobs. He feels his composure fraying under the raw fear of what those illusions had shown him, and he can't stop seeing them die now.  
"Thanos is not going to stop trying. I don't know how I could live without you... I just wanted to... _end_." he confesses.

He can't control those thoughts, like on the day when he broke down on the Milano, a year and change before.  
Back then he didn't know how to stop it. Now he does, and even if he knows it will hurt, he pushes himself up from the bed and blindly reaches out, grasping. His wounds flash with pain, maybe tear open. He doesn't care.  
Gentle hands guide him once more, and he buries his face in the crook of Peter's neck as they both sob and tremble like children after a nightmare. Peter's arms wrap around him, holding him close, and he clenches his hands on the Terran's jacket as if it was a lifeline. Somehow Gamora manages to plaster herself against his uninjured back. Her breasts press against his shoulder-blades, her breath is hot on his neck, coming in convulsive sobs. She is crying too, scared and worried almost beyond words. Tears trickle down his back and Ronan wishes there was a way for them to be able to hold each other as tight as possible.

"Don't you dare try to push us away because you don't want to put us on the line. - Gamora whispers threateningly - Thanos wants to kill us all anyway. I don't want to buy myself a few more days of life if the price is losing you." she declares between sobs.  
Ronan shakes his head, as much as he can without headbutting Peter.  
"I can't, even though I know I should. - he confesses - I can't face existing without you. You have kindled new life in my heart. Without you, I am empty, incomplete."  
"I love you, guys... - Peter sobs - I fucking love you. However long we have left, we are going to be together. All three of us, whatever happen. To the end."  
Ronan nods, shamelessly nuzzling into his neck. For the first time in his life, he has something beyond his duty, beyond fighting. He wants to see the end of war, he wants to know what peace feels like and he wants to discover it with them, but if it is Pama's will that he is to die, dying by their side doesn't seem a bad end either. Who cares if the time of their happiness will be measured in days or years? It will be perfect bliss regardless.

It is a long time before any of them calms down enough to stop sobbing, but eventually they end up curled as much as they can in the narrow hospital bed.  
"The doctors will have a massive fit if they see us like this." Peter comments, but doesn't even try to move.  
"Let them. We needed this." Ronan retorts, sleepily tracing Gamora's features. She has nearly fallen asleep, and Ronan would give anything to watch her. He can almost imagine a half-smile on her face. She is so beautiful.  
"Yeah. We definitely did. - Peter confirms - I have barely slept for the last three days, and Gamora had it even worse. She hasn't closed her eyes for a minute." he reveals.  
"Three days... - Ronan comments - I didn't realise I had slept so long."  
"You weren't really sleeping. - Peter retorts - It was more like a coma. You were barely breathing, and your heartrate and temperature dropped like crazy. It looked like you were..." Peter cannot finish the sentence. His voice catches and he takes a deep, trembling breath.  
Ronan somehow manages to turn around towards him without pushing Gamora out of the bed.  
"It's alright Peter. - he reassures him - It's normal when one of my people gets badly injured. It's part of the healing process." he explains.  
Peter takes another deep breath and presses a light kiss to his lips.  
"I know now. Some of your ex-buddies told us that it was a Kree thing and that we shouldn't worry. - he replies - They were surprisingly supportive, considering that we are... what did they say? Ketchup? Cashew?" he adds.  
"_Kashw_. It means foreigners. - Ronan explains - It's a respectful word."  
"Better than barbarians?" Peter teases.  
"Much better." Ronan confirms.  
"They're not too terrible, your people. At least some of them. - Peter comments quietly - Some of the guys came to visit, you know? They were worried about you." he reveals.  
"Oh. That's... nice." Ronan comments, a bit surprised that they have been so cavalierly ignoring the fact that he had been struck from the rolls. But then again, Nechtan approached him in public, where everyone could see, even if just to make sure that the Guardians weren't raping and torturing him.

"There is this kid, Marrek of House Vell, the one you ordered to protect Nova Prime..." Peter comments with a hint of laughter.  
"What did he do?" Ronan asks, slightly worried.  
"He hasn't stopped. He doesn't leave her alone for a moment. - Peter reveals - He insists that you have appointed him as her what's the word? Foster-kinsman? What does that even mean?" he laughs.  
"It used to be a honorary position that entailed protecting someone as if the appointee was one of their warrior kinsmen. - Ronan explains, slightly baffled - It used to be a way of fostering good relations between Houses. But I'm sure I haven't..." he protests, but stops in his tracks, falling silent for a moment.

"I might have said something that could be construed as that. - he admits eventually, much to his chagrin - It was just to shut Nova Prime up and get her out of the way. I don't have the authority to order anything to anyone. Not legally..." he adds, shaking his head in disbelief.  
"Well, either Marrek believes you have, or he is a passive-aggressive little shit and is just trying to wind Nova Prime up. - Peter points out cheerfully - I am betting on a combination of both." he adds.  
"Is it working?" Ronan asks failing to keep the amusement out of his voice.  
"Oh, yes... - Peter replies - He is driving her around the bend. He follows her everywhere like a lost puppy, and he is so damn helpful and cute that she struggles to stay aloof. It's amazingly fun to watch." he reveals.  
Ronan finds himself chuckling at the idea. He'd pay to see Nova Prime caught in an uncomfortable situation.  
"Just wait a couple of days until the doctors take all those bandages off your face, and then don't laugh too hard, or you'll give him away." Peter advises.  
"Oh, no. I wouldn't dare! - Ronan laughs - I'd never betray a comrade." he adds, before he thinks his words through.

"No. He's not... I mean... - he stammers, instantly regretting them - You Guardians are my comrades. He is nothing to me." he backpedals.  
"It's alright, bluebell. - Peter reassures him quietly, giving him a quick peck on the lips - They are your people, no matter the legalities. It's alright for you to feel kinship with them. We are not jealous, promise."  
"They are not my kin anymore." Ronan retorts sullenly.  
"Oh, come on! It's just a formality they can't even follow themselves. - Peter objects - They came here because they care about you. They still look up to you, bluebell." he adds gently.  
"Well, they should not! - Ronan retorts irately - I was a broken thing. I only brought shame and disgrace upon the Kree!" he protests.  
A second pair of warm hands alights on his shoulder and Gamora's sleepy voice resonates in his ears.  
"When you served Thanos, yes, my love. We all did terrible things because of him. - she says - But that's not all there was to your life." she adds.  
Ronan tries to object, but she silences with a finger pressed on his lips.  
"They talked to us, your former comrades. They shared their stories with us. - she reveals - They said that you were brave, and fair, and selfless, that you were distant and aloof and maybe a bit of an asshole, as Peter would say, but you looked out for your men, you cared for your people. They know as much."  
Ronan doesn't know what to say to those words. They are comforting and unsettling at the same time. He doesn't feel like he deserves praise for what he then perceived as just his duty. It was a duty he carried out with pride and passionate dedition, but a duty nonetheless. He did care, but abstractly. Not like he does now.

"You did wrong, it is true. I was there, right beside you, every step of the way. - she adds softly, her breath hot against her neck - I saw you fall, but since you came to live with us, I have also seen you rise above and beyond what you were. You are no longer the man you were before. Everyone has noticed." she adds.  
"I know. They didn't seem thrilled." Ronan objects, thinking back on his disastrous chat with Nechtan.  
"They were worried about you. About us hurting you. They know you have been through enough already. - Peter retorts - And yes, a few of them are rather speciesist, but, on average, the Xandarians and even the Spartoi are no better. It must have something to do with being part of an Empire." he muses.

"Lady Derdriyu came to talk to us about our... relationship, this morning." Gamora says  
"Oh yes! - Peter confirms - She gave us a hell of a shovel talk." he continues cheerfully.  
"And then her blessing." Gamora adds.  
Ronan would have blinked in surprise if he had been able to.  
"What...?" he stammers.  
"A shovel talk? It's something you do to the partners of your offspring. - Peter explains - It's like: I have a shovel and two acres of land. If you hurt my son, daughter, whatever... no one will find you ever again... Or something like that." he trails off.  
"I know what a shovel talk is, Peter. - Ronan points out, piqued - I just... Did she... did she really bless us... what we have together?" he asks, failing to hide his astonishment.  
He feels Peter shrug against him.  
"She said it was strange and more than a bit questionable, but she did." he confirms.  
"Lady Derdriyu cares about you. She just wanted to make sure we did too. - Gamora chimes in - She said she is glad that you have stopped living only for the dead, and started to live for real."

Those words... Derdriyu had advised him to do so many times over the years of their acquaintance, but Ronan had always dismissed her advice as the platitudes of a sheltered person who is only dimly aware of what the world is really like.  
He had been too tangled up with traditions and expectations, and with his inability to deal with his loss to see the wisdom of her words.  
Only now he can appreciate it.  
It's not that he has forgotten his family, or that he doesn't care about the victims of the Great Fires anymore, but it is no longer the only thing that matters.

"If I have, it is because of you. You saved me: the two of you, Drax, Rocket and Groot. You gave me something to live for." Ronan whispers, feeling tears prickle his eyes again.  
Peter kisses him once more. "You did most of it, bluebell. - he says - We just gave you the chance to do it." he adds, rubbing the tip of his nose against Ronan's.

Ronan sighs, caught between bliss and wistfulness.  
"I am so happy with you... - he confesses - I wish I was a free man, so I could pledge myself to you in front of gods and mortals. Forever, for how long it might last." he declares.  
"You will be. - Peter promises, squeezing his hand gently - My dad has petitioned to the Council that you should be freed, and Lady Derdriyu has spoken in your favour too."  
"And Loki too, for all that helped. - Gamora sighs - He seems to have a knack for irritating people." she comments.  
"And Cathair Fyiero didn't object?" Ronan asks. It would be surprising. Fyiero is a Xandarian catspaw, he would sooner side with Nova Prime than with Derdriyu.  
"Your former Head of Council? - Gamora enquires - He is no longer in office. The Accusers caught him taking bribes from a Xandarian lobby group and sent him in chains to Xandar. He is in jail, now." she reveals.  
"And will stay there for a while, by the looks of it." Peter adds, sounding pleased.  
"Oh, Pama! - Ronan exclaims - That's why Nova Prime looked so angry."  
"Yep! Exactly! It's just a matter of time, now. - Peter confirms - Nova Prime is still pushing the other way, but she is pretty much alone and she'll cave in, eventually. After what you've done at the Temple, saving her life and all, she cannot push too hard or she'll look like an ungrateful cow." he concludes.  
Overwhelmed by too many revelations Ronan doesn't really manage to feel anything but confused.  
"What is this Council you are talking about, anyway?"

Peter shrugs.  
"They called it the Security Council. - he replies - It is like a club for those who want to bust Thanos' arse. All of the heads of state who were at the wedding are in it. Soon they'll agree on the plan and we'll be in our merry way to kick some butt all together in harmony." he explains with his usual irreverence.  
"It seems like I missed a lot of action in the three days I have spent out of combat..." Ronan says, a bit awed by how fast things have evolved.  
"And you don't know half of it..." Peter teases.  
"Then tell me." Ronan retorts, nuzzling into his neck.  
"Of course we will, isn't it, Gamora?" Peter agrees.  
Gamora makes a vague affirmative noise as she tries to nestle even closer to Ronan, nearly alseep again.  
"You start talking, I'll help if you need it." she mumbles. It's likely that she will just fall asleep in a matter of moments.

Ronan feels wide awake, instead, better by the minute. He needs to be brought up to speed, because as soon as he is discharged, he'll step back into the arena and this time he wants to do things right.  
Now he sees that his mission is not just demanding justice for the victims of past wrongs, but also to make sure that those wrongs are not repeated, that conflicts don't turn into slaughter, that never again a war is left to fester like that between Xandar and the Kree, that no more people are made as desperate as he was.  
Justice has to be tempered with mercy, and while the past informs what people are and what they stand for, the future is what is really worth fighting for, a future like the one Helenai and Gladiator have envisioned.  
For all of this, Thanos needs to be stopped. He will do his part and, Pama willing, he will see the Mad Titan fall.  
There lies _Ma'at_, and, no matter how much he has changed, he is still its servant. Now more than ever.

"Alright. - Peter nods - Brace yourself, bluebell! Here we go: so we came out of that bloody temple, and..."


	31. Chapter 31

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to (I love that song too) and importchic for their reviews and to all the people who faved/followed this fic. You guys are amazing!  
Raptowen, I'm seriously thinking about implementing your suggestion in a later chapter.

Warnings: this chapter contains angst, politics, some implied gore and abuse, and some language.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

They emerge into the plaza in front of the Temple like a grim, solemn procession, their faces stained with soot and ash, exhausted, limping and staggering, supporting each other as much as they can.  
Their formal, festive clothes are all torn and singed, and blood of a dozen different colours stains the flagstones, dripping from their wounds.

Drax is carrying Ronan in his arms, cradling him gently against his broad, tattooed chest. Dark blue blood is crusted all over the Kree's face, a bit like the warpaint he used to wear when he served Thanos, but there is a half-smile on his lips.

He was smiling as he lost consciousness, cradled in Gamora's arms. He was happy that they were all alive and that they had stuck one up Thanos' jumper.  
He is barely breathing now, his pulse sluggish and his skin even cooler than usual. Peter is trying to stay in control, but he is terribly worried, just a step away from going into full-blown hysterics, and from the look on Gamora's face, she is not far from it either.

To all intents and purposes, they have won this battle, but he doesn't feel like rejoicing, not if the price of victory is Ronan's life.  
At the moment, the most he can do is concentrate enough to put one foot in front of the other.

A cordon of Spartoi guardsmen is trying to keep the crowd away from the immediate vicinity of the Temple, while ambulances and firefighting-trucks are parked all over the unoccupied space. A bunch of paramedics in bright uniforms are tending to the shocked guests.  
Emperor J'son barks something in Spartoi. A bigger group of paramedics rushes in, bristling with medikits and other equipment. They seem to be the only calm people in all Lakedaimon.

When they pry Ronan out of Drax's arms and wheel him away on a gurney, Peter tries to go with them.  
Emperor J'son catches him and holds him away from them.  
"You have to let them work, son." he says. Peter dumbly shakes his head. He can't face leaving Ronan alone, not after what he's been through. He'll need support. He'll need him and Gamora.  
J'son wraps him in a bear hug, physically preventing him from following the paramedics.  
"He'll be alright, Peter. He'll be fine. - he reassures - Let them work. You can stay with him at the hospital later. Now you need some treatment too." he adds.  
Paramedics appear in his field of vision from parts unknown and push him to sit down on the flagstones.  
Peter only realises he has a wide but thankfully shallow burn on his left leg when the paramedics start cleaning it up. He couldn't even feel pain before. It's uncanny what a mild shock can do for you.  
Another paramedic is treating Gamora a mere step away. Peter holds out a hand towards her. She grabs it, silently grateful for his support.

Lady Sif, the Asgardian shieldmaiden that was with them during the defense of the Temple, has managed to elude the paramedics and rejoin the Asgardian delegation. Peter doesn't understand a word of what they are saying, but they seem very upset about something, he notes with detachment.  
"Loki Laufeyson!" Sif exclaims, charging back towards the wounded.

Loki is sitting against one of the ambulances, long legs stretched in front of him. He is still wearing his blue face, and it is pale with exhaustion and pain. A first-aider is checking the dark blue bruising on his ribs, and Peter can see that the skin of his torso is littered with silvery-blue scars, in a pattern very similar to Ronan's burns.  
Nebula is hovering close to him, snarling against another first-aider who is trying to treat her, and when Sif approaches with a threatening demeanour, she intercepts her, blocking her path.  
Sif casts her a withering glance, but ultimately decides to ignore her.

"Loki Laufeyson! You scoundrel!" she repeats, switching to Trader's with the clear intention of making a scene.  
Loki sighs and rubs his face wearily. "Laufeyson... what an inaccurate patronimic! - he comments with evident sarcasm - Laufey of Jothunnheim was hardly a father to me." he adds bitterly.  
"And yet you flaunt your heritage!" she confronts him.  
"Have a look around, Sif. Blue faces are less uncommon than pink ones around here. I am just blending in. - he retorts - Plus, my Lady Nebula likes me better like this, and who am I to say no to my bethroted?" he adds with a smug grin.

Sif remains silent and his grin widens even more, giving him a boyish air.  
"So, now that you have made your speciesism patent, is there anything you require of me?" Loki drawls calmly.  
"Don't pretend you don't know! - Sif retorts, getting more and more irritated by the moment - Where is the All-Father? What did you do to him?"  
"He is in no danger, I assure you." Loki declares placidly.  
"Where is he? - Sif insists, trying to take a threatening step towards him, but Nebula doesn't step away - He was right next to me in the Temple, and now he is nowhere to be found. Did you leave him in there to die?" she accuses.  
Loki gives her a long, unblinking stare, then pushes the paramedic away and comes to stand in front of her.  
"I did not, if only for the fact that he was never here to begin with." he declares.

His youthful blue face turns pale pink once again as it was in the beginning, then his features thicken, his hair grows coarse and grey, a matching grey beard grows out on his jaw and a golden eyepatch appears on his right eye. His clothes change to match his new appearance, and even his voice sounds different when he speaks.  
"It was me all the time." Loki says with a creepy calm smile when the transformation is complete.  
Sif takes a step back, her eyes wide in surprise and horror.

"The All-Father has not graced his own halls with his presence since the Svartalfar invasion. - Loki reveals, his voice dripping with contempt - And you haven't even noticed for a moment, even though you're supposed to be his sworn shield..." he adds, twisting the knife.  
"What...? What did you do to him, you..." Sif exclaims, nearly incoherent with fury.  
"There is no need to resort to insults, my dear Sif. - Loki says, returning to his normal appearance with a grimace - I have only done to him what he did to me before. I stuck him in a hole and left him there to mould. He'll be fine, once I get him out of there..." he minimises.  
"You will pay for this!" Sif threatens. She nods towards the rest of the Asgardians, and a few warriors step out of the ranks, marching towards Nebula and Loki with belligerent intent.  
The two look at each other with resignation, but grimly hold their position, in defiance of a superior force. Peter imagines that Loki intends to use the Space Gem once more to get the hell out of there, but he looks so exhausted that he doubts he's going to be able to pull it off.

Wearily, cursing because of his flambé leg, Peter pushes himself to his feet and goes to stand in front of Nebula, trying to shield the two from the Asgardians. Rocket and Drax appear next to him, then Gamora limps determinedly at his side.  
"Get out of the way!" Sif hisses.  
"Not gonna happen. Sorry about that. - Peter manages to say - He is kind of my brother-in-law, and he kind of saved everyone's arse in there..." he adds, apologetically, but not really.  
"Yeah, in case you didn't notice, we'd all have been toast in there without these two!" Rocket argues, jerking his head towards Loki and Nebula.  
Peter turns for a moment, enough to see their confused expressions. They didn't seem to expect any support from anyone. It makes Peter sad to think about it.

"This hardly makes a difference. - Sif objects - He is a recidivist, selfish criminal, and it is within my prerogatives as Shieldmaiden to the All-Father to arrest and punish him." she adds, and Peter knows that she is not wrong. Dammit!  
"Selfish? Seriously, Shieldmaiden?" Loki barks over the heads of Peter and Nebula.  
"I have done what was necessary to ensure Asgard's safety! - he declares - Even after we had been invaded by alien spaceships, even after my mother had been killed..."  
"She was not your mother, spawn of Jothunnheim!" Sif spits.

Loki flinches visibly, and when he speaks again he is seething with anger.  
"Even after Queen Frigga had been killed inside his very halls, the All-Father refused to see that to mantain Asgard's isolation was folly. - he continues - He couldn't see beyond the walls of his golden city. I could. I have seen the Universe in its glory and despair. I know what is out there, and I know that alone Asgard cannot withstand the coming storm."  
"I don't believe a word of what you are saying. There is no storm, if not one of your own making. You have sucked us in this conflict." Sif objects.

"Really?! - Rocket intervenes - And all the shit that went down in the Temple?! Did you get knocked too hard on the head?!" he asks contemptuously. He seems to have taken a liking to Loki.  
"The rat is right. Thanos is out to kill the Universe. - Nebula barks in support - All the Universe, including your lily-white Asgardian arses. Whether you want it or not, this war has always been your war too." she reveals.  
"Well, of course you know about Thanos' plans. - Sif retorts, hardly missing a beat - You work for him." she accuses.  
"Do you really believe that if I still worked for him I'd have wasted time saving you? - Nebula objects - There must be some truth in it when they say you think with with your shield..." she provokes.  
"You shameless blue tart!" Sif exclaims, trying to get close and personal with her.  
Gamora shoves her back unceremoniously.  
"Take your hands off my sister!" she warns.  
"Warriors of Asgard! Seize the traitor and his accomplice!" Sif orders, and her cohorts happily obey.  
Many of them have not been involved in the battle inside the Temple, they are rested and full of vigour, but they are the Guardians, and even battered, charred and exhausted, they will put up a fight, or would have, as it turns out.

"Stop! Put down your weapons! NOW!" Emperor J'son yells at the top of his lungs. That gives everyone enough pause for a small patrol of Spartoi soldiers to interpose between Asgardians and Guardians.  
"You will cease all hostilities immediately. - the Emperor declares in a tone that leaves no space for refusals - I will tolerate no violence towards any of my guests."  
"Are you really willing to protect this... this _criminal_, Your Majesty?" Sif insists, even though she puts away her sword.  
"I still need to verify that he is indeed a criminal. - J'son retorts calmly - I cannot overlook the fact that he has saved many people in the Temple, and at any rate, I wouldn't extradite anyone without a formal hearing. There are laws to be respected in this Empire." he concludes  
"You will regret this when his dastardly plan comes to fruition, Your Majesty." Sif warns him, her voice tense with rage.

"Dastardly plan?!" Loki exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief.  
"What in the Nine Realms are you talking about?! - he asks belligerently - You hypocrites hailed the All-Father's decision to tie up alliances with Spartax and the Nova Empire as supreme wisdom, as a new era in Asgardian politics. And now it is a dastardly plan?"  
"I know how you are. - Sif retorts with a sneer - You wouldn't do anything without a personal benefit."  
Peter can feel the Space Gem's power flare with Loki's anger.  
"You don't know anything about me! Nothing at all! - he hisses - The existence of the Universe is at stake! Do you really think I would be so foolish to gamble with it?" he yells.

"ENOUGH!" Emperor J'son orders, his voice like thunder.  
All contenders freeze.  
"This is not the moment for your squabbles and recriminations! - he declares - We have our wounded to tend to, our dead to bury. Peace and order need to be restored on the streets." he adds, and Peter knows his father is right, but Loki is not wrong in defending himself either.  
"Everything else will have to wait, but I promise you, my guests, we will get to the bottom of the matter. - the Emperor adds - What happened here today is of the utmost gravity.  
We were all attacked, and through us, the nations that we represent. This wasn't just an attack against my daughter and her husband. It was a strike against the stability and peace of the whole Universe." he adds.

"Admitting that this is true, what does the Spartoi Empire plan to do about it?" Nova Prime intervenes out of the blue, leaving Rhomann Dey's side and calmly walking towards J'son.  
"Alone, we can do nothing, but today has proven that if we stand together, we can fight back. - he says with conviction - For this reason, I call a Council of all rulers here convened, to discuss today's events and the intelligence my son and his allies have gathered about them, and to devise a common plan of action." he announces solemnly.  
Murmurings spread like wildfire among the foreign delegations, and Peter catches more than one upset or scared face in the crowd.

Sif's eyes glint ferociously and it is not outside the realm of imagination that she will say something scathing about the legitimacy of the council, and question Loki's presence. Feelings are mixed, at best, about this announcement and her intervention might well precipitate the situation and jeopardise the Council even before it is started.  
"I accept your invitation, J'son of Spartax." Nova Prime declares before the shieldmaiden can even draw breath to spew her poison. She sets a hand on J'son's arm with an affectionate expression, and his father's blue eyes crinkle slightly at the corners in an almost imperceptible smile.

"I accept too." High Priestess Derdriyu announces. She glides closer, led by a youngish Accuser and holds out a hand in Nova Prime's general direction.  
"Today for the first time in centuries, Xandarian and Kree warriors have fought together, side by side, to defend _Ma'at_. - she adds - Let us stand together again, and preserve the peace that we have acquired at such a high price." she offers.  
Nova Prime considers her hand with perplexity and hesitates for a moment.  
It seems to Peter as if the whole of Lakedaimon is holding their breath, then Nova Prime clasps Derdriyu's hand in her own.  
"Your words are wise, sister. - she says, while the crowd looks in astonished silence - Let's put our differences aside and focus on our common enemies in this moment of need." she declares.

Derdriyu smiles like a cat that got the cream and tightens her hold on the Xandarian's hand. She might be blind and behave a bit ditzy with all her mystic affectations, but Peter has the impression that she is as sharp as her Xandarian counterpart, and she is quietly reminding Nova Prime that she is still Kree, strong enough to inadvertently break a few bones in her hand if she holds her a bit too tight.  
"May this be the first step of an honest, open reconciliation process between our peoples, so that we can confront our tragic past and pave the way for a brighter future." Derdriyu adds, innocently enough, but Nova Prime's calculated smile freezes on her face as she understands the subtext. The helpful, airy-headed priestess has managed to stick her in a very uncomfortable situation, and she can't really back away now.  
Nova Prime stalls for a moment, then nods gravely.  
"The Goddess willing, it will be so." she is forced to agree, much to her chagrin.

* * *

"Did she really say so?!" Ronan asks, sounding quite shocked, but in a good way.  
"Word by word. - Peter confirms - Derdriyu wants the Xandarians to admit their responsabilities and apologise, and Nova Prime doesn't seem entirely averse to throwing at least a few of the perps in jail and throw away the key. Spartax and Shi'ar are quietly pressuring her as well."  
Ronan sighs. "We should have left the whole affair in Derdriyu's hands from the start. - he jokes - She would have had the Xandarians sue for peace in a week at most."  
"She is a sharp lady. We are lucky that she is on your side." Peter comments.  
"Yes, we are. - Ronan agrees, nuzzling into his neck - And then what happened?" he asks.  
"And then, well, Majestrix Lilandra and her husband agreed to the Council too, and then Kl'rt, of course." Peter narrates.  
"Is he still furious for having been called pathetic?" Ronan asks.  
"Always. - Peter confirms - The thing snowballed, as you can imagine. All representatives agreed, eventually, even the Asgardians. They didn't want to be left isolated."  
"And Loki?" Ronan asks.  
"Still a free man, at least for now, and formally representing Jothunnheim. He even unfroze the All-Father. - Peter reveals - He was here often to check on you. Him and Nebula." he adds  
"Everyman tortured him too, didn't he?" Ronan says quietly.

Peter nods but doesn't dare to say a word.  
Some of the representatives spent almost an entire Council session questioning Loki from all possible angles, digging, probing, accusing. He had tried to deflect their questions, he would rather have been considered a turncoat than admit what Thanos had done to him to break him into service, but in the end he had caved in and confessed.  
He had showed them the scars, littered on his chest, back and arms, told them how Everyman had broken him, piece by piece, by torture, starvation, and rape, until he was no more than putty for Thanos' Mind Gem to mould into a weapon pointed at Terra and Asgard.  
His bright red eyes had been shining with tears of shame and humiliation when he had finished, and Nebula had stood at his side, haranguing the Council, shaming them for trying to shame her boyfriend, for trying to make him feel less for what he had been through.

"I am so glad that Yondu kept you... Really, bloody glad..." Ronan whispers, tangling his fingers in Peter's hair and kissing him deeply.  
"It's alright. - Gamora intervenes, petting them both in turn to reassure them, even though she is nearly crying herself - You will heal. Loki will heal. We will help. He is one of our own now. We are family." she says.  
"What a messy clan we are..." Ronan comments affectionately.

As if on cue, the door opens with a relatively loud bang.  
"Speaking of what..." Gamora comments with a hint of laughter.  
"I am Groot..." Groot apologises sheepisly, then his eyes go huge in surprise, and a wide smile appears on his face.  
"I am Groot!" he exclaims and flows towards the bed, trying to hug the three of them at once with his extended branches.

"Hey! Welcome back to the land of the living, buddy!" Rocket exclaims from the door.  
"I told you he'd be fine." he tells Drax, elbowing him discreetly.  
"I seem to recall that you were quite worried." Drax objects with a slight frown. Rocket gives him a dirty look and shakes his head and Peter cannot repress a small laugh.  
"Well, sue me. - Rocket retorts - You looked like a _goonta_ beast had chewed you and spit you out, buddy. No offense meant." he adds awkwardly.  
"None taken. You looked like you had been barbecued and then chased by hounds. - Ronan replies genially - I appreciate your concern, comrades. I really do." he adds with a smile.  
Drax smiles, turning slightly brown, and Rocket grins and turns back towards the corridor.  
"Hey! Loki, Nebula, hammerheads! He is awake!" he calls out.

A bunch of blue-skinned people clogs the entrance, peering in with elated expressions, a bit like a bunch of (tall, freakishly strong) schoolkids.  
"Welcome back, commander!" one of the youngest calls out. An older comrade cuffs him over the head for his formal faux pas, but the youngster doesn't stop smiling.  
"Morthwyl?! - Ronan calls back, turning towards the sound of their voices - Lads?! What are you doing here?!" he asks.  
"Surveillance detail for you, the two Daughters and Laufeyson. We just relieved the Shi'ar Pretorians." one of the more senior Accusers replies.  
Loki rolls his eyes at the patronimic, but does not comment.  
"It is a necessary precaution, in case those people come back to finish the job." the Accuser explains.  
"Or any of you decides to flee to parts unknown." one of his comrades adds pointedly.  
"It looks like an easy task, for now, doesn't it? Give me a few days, and I'll make you sweat for it." Ronan comments with a hint of laughter. The Accusers seem to find it equally funny, at least the majority of them. Maybe it is some sort of in-joke between comrades, but whatever the reason, Peter thinks it is nice to see some smiles on all those serious faces.

"Damn propriety! - one of them exclaims - It is good to have you back, sir!".  
"It is good to be back." Ronan admits with a bright, wide smile. It makes him look so utterly kissable...  
Peter tries to keep cool and pretend he hasn't seen it. He does try, he doesn't want to upset the Accusers with another public display of intimacy...  
"Ah, what the hell!" he ultimately thinks to himself. He presses his lips over Ronan's smiling mouth and after a moment of hesitation, the Kree does his best to snog the breath out of him, while the people around start wolf-whistling and cheering.

"What the hell is going on here?" someone shouts. The sea of blue parts, letting a thin, bespectacled doctor in the room. Everything quiets immediately.  
"You, Out! And you too!" he orders, pointing first at the people standing in the doorway and then at Rocket and Drax. In the confusion, Groot has managed to jump into a vase with an ornamental plant, and is now pretending to be inanimate. Peter tries not to look his way. The doctor wouldn't appreciate his attempt at deception.

Rocket tries to protest, but the doctor quells him with a withering look.  
"This is my ward, in case you have forgotten. - the doctor points out - So I don't care if you are the Heroes of the Universe or whoever..."  
"Guardians of the Galaxy..." Rocket mutters under his breath.  
"Visitor hours are long past, and, at any rate, I would never allow so many people in here at once. - the doctor continues, paying him no heed - There is a waiting room, if you are on security detail, but you won't be allowed in until tomorrow morning and in groups of three at most." he announces.

There is a scatter of murmurings, but eventually everyone leaves, and the doctor turns towards the bed, arms akimbo and a sour expression on his face.  
"Just what do you think you are doing, you three?" he asks with a mixture of irritation and resignation.  
Peter gives him a forced smile and thinks furiously, hoping against hope that he will find an explanation for what they are doing that goes beyond their need for reassurance and comfort. He doubts that the doctor will be understanding about it.

Ronan's hand is subconsciously tightening on his jacket. Peter doesn't want to leave him alone. He doesn't want to leave him full stop.  
He turns to Gamora, who nods with a determined glint in her eyes. Thank the gods for her cool-headedness, Peter thinks.

"We are testing an experimental treatment for PTSD. - she replies as if she knows what she is talking about - Physical closeness releases oxytocin, which decreases the symptoms of PTSD without collateral effects. It has been recently published in the Spartoi Journal of Neuropsychology." she declares assuredly. Either she has gotten a lot better at bluffing, or she knows exactly what she is talking about. Either way, she is awesome.

The doctor hesitates for a moment. His gaze slides to Ronan, possibly taking in the death-grip in which he is holding Peter's jacket and Gamora's top, then to Gamora's determined face. When the doctor looks at him, Peter does his best to look like he knows what it is all about.  
"Let's put it this way, doctor. - he offers - We basically haven't slept since the attack at the Temple, and Ronan..." he starts, but hesitates, unwilling to say too much and shame him in front of a stranger.  
"Well, I have flashbacks and night terrors even when I don't get tortured by nichilistic serial rapists... - Ronan admits nonchalantly - You can either let us try to stay like this for the night, or be prepared to deal with one or more of us going into a crisis. Your choice, sir." he says calmly.

"Your wounds..." the doctor starts, but he already sounds unconvinced.  
"My wounds are healing. I have had far worse in my life, trust me. - Ronan retorts - I am sure they'll be fine like this. They have been for the last couple of hours so far." he adds.  
The doctor hesitates again, taking a breath to speak, but failing to find the words.  
"I'll sign a waiver if you want, exhonerating you from all and any responsability for the damage this might cause. - Ronan offers - Just leave us alone. We are tired, and we've been though enough already." he adds, managing to sound aloof and assured, and at the same time exhausted.

The doctor shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath.  
"I wash my hands of this, but I'll note down on your medical record that you have done this against my advice. - he warns - Good luck trying to get legal compensation if something goes wrong." he adds bitterly.  
"Perfect. - Ronan comments instead - Goodnight then." he adds, flopping back on the bed and curling on one side.  
Peter flops down with him, letting Ronan spoon his front lightly against his back. Gamora follows suit, pressing herself against Ronan's back. The doctor mutters under his breath, talking angrily to himself, but finally leaves, shutting the door behind him. The three of them release a collective sigh of relief.

"I didn't think it would work out." Gamora confesses.  
"Remind me not to play bluffing games with you. How did you now about that research?" Peter retorts sleepily.  
"I read it. Someone left the journal in the waiting room yesterday." Gamora replies.  
The three nearly sleepless days are starting to tell, and the temptation of just giving in to the warmth and comfort of his present position is overwhelming. Groot sneaks quietly out of the vase and curls into his arms like a bendy, leafy cat. For some reason it feels right.

"I love you all, d'you know?" he mumbles.  
Gamora manages a sleepy, humming sound, Ronan not even that. His breath is calm and regular. He is out like a light already.  
Peter chuckles under his breath.  
It is not long before he follows suit.


	32. Chapter 32

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to and diarmour for their reviews and the soundtrack (I love Linkin Park too) to all the people who faved/followed this fic. You guys are amazing!

Warnings: this chapter contains angst, implied gore, hints of PTSD and some light sexual content.

Notice: I will be on holiday with limited PC access next week, so I will not be able to post a chapter on Monday as usual. See you all in two weeks.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

"Hold still, young man. I don't want to hurt you." the middle-aged Spartoi nurse says.  
Ronan can feel his gloved hands brush against his face as he peels off the tape holding the gauze pads in place over his eyes, slow and careful. He is suddenly very glad of not having any hair, facial or otherwise.

A gust of cool air hits his closed eyelids. It feels strange, after so many days.  
"All done. - the nurse announces - You can open your eyes, if you want." he adds encouragingly.

Ronan does. The lights have been dimmed to minimise his discomfort, but after nearly a week spent in darkness, even that dim light is overpowering. His eyes sting from the light and start to water and he is forced to shield them with a hand, cursing quietly. It will take a bit of time to adapt back to the light.

The burns on his face have been itching for days now, ever since the doctor stopped dosing him with enough painkillers to put down a horse, and the salt from his tears is only making it worse.  
Ronan forces himself to calm down and ignore the temptation to scratch them.  
His vision is blurry with tears.  
He blinks repeatedly and tentatively takes away his shielding hand for another attempt.  
The light seems still a bit too bright, but he can endure it now, and what he sees is reward enough for any discomfort to fade into nothingness.

Gamora and Peter, both smiling, both beautiful as dawn. He couldn't have chosen anything fairer to gaze upon.  
"How does it feel? - the nurse asks - Any discomfort? Any trouble with your sight?"  
Ronan turns towards the man, bald and squat, but with a very kind smile, and shakes his head.  
"Everything seems to be in working order." he replies.  
The man nods and points towards a panel on the wall.  
"Can you tell me what the first symbol of the fourth row is?" he asks.  
Ronan obliges him, answering to all his questions and even letting him shine a strong light in his eyes to examine his fundus, then finally the nurse declares him as good as new.  
"At least your vision is none worse for the wear." the nurse says. His gaze shifts towards his face and drops again.  
Ronan nods and thanks him, pretending he hasn't noticed anything.

The doctor told him earlier that he will make a full recovery, that his ability to fight will be unaffected by the burns once they scar over completely, and now he knows that his sight is equally unscathed. That is all he needs to be able to fight against Thanos, he tells himself, but even if it makes him feel vain and shallow, he cannot help wondering about... the rest.

He had always known that he would have scars from what Everyman did to him, and he had thought he didn't care. He cared that his _meryw_ were alive, he cared that they were whole and uninjured, and then that he was fit to rejoin the fight. He had thought of survival, not of the aftermath. Now that those immediate worries are all laid to rest, he is discovering that he does care about his scars instead.

He vaguely remembers being covered in them, after the Great Fire, blue-black scars, ridges and patches all over his face and body, intercalated by smoother, lighter areas where cultured skin had been grafted over his ruined flesh. He remembers catching a reflection of himself and recoiling in horror and disgust.

He doesn't want for his _meryw_ to feel like that when they look at him.  
He has never really considered himself handsome, but it pleased him that they did, and now it pains him to think that they won't look at him the same way. No matter how superficial it might seem, it feels like he has lost something important, that what happened will end up putting a strain on the fragile, beautiful thing they have.

With greeting and a final string of recommendations, the nurse finally leaves the room, but the unease remains, thick and suffocating.  
Gamora and Peter are looking at him with studiously neutral, guarded expressions. The silence stretches.

"We should get going. - Ronan says finally - The Council will soon convene for the hearing." he adds, dangling his legs out of the bed.  
He has been walking with assistance for two days already, dragging that thrice damned drip-and-stand all over the corridor to get some exercise. The doctor disconnected him from the blasted thing earlier in the morning. There is no reason for him not to stand up and resume his normal life.  
The world spins a bit at first, and he wobbles, but soon regains his balance. It is nothing, so he gently pushes Peter away when he tries to support him. He is whole. Nearly healed, despite the aesthetics. He doesn't want them to see him as pitiful.

"You have brought some clothes, haven't you?" he asks over his shoulder, shuffling towards the small table where most of his things have been piled up.  
He starts rifling through the various bags and packets, until Gamora's hand closes around his wrist, just below the bandages covering the burns on his right forearm.

"There is something wrong with you." she says, not asks. She knows him too well for his own good.  
"What is it?" she asks.  
"It is nothing. I am fine." he replies, trying to free himself.  
People have died or have been seriously, permanently injured in the battle of the Temple, he tells himself. He is not entitled to commiserate himself for something that is, literally, only skin-deep. He should just get his act together and carry on.

"You know you are a terrible liar, don't you, bluebell?" Peter chimes in. His voice is gentle and subdued and his hand is warm on his shoulder.  
"You don't need to hide from us." Gamora whispers.  
"Don't I?" Ronan asks, a lot more brusquely than he meant to.

"You haven't looked, have you? - Peter asks quietly - You haven't asked for a mirror, and you've been looking away from any reflective surface ever since they took the bandages off your face." he adds. At times Ronan forgets how smart and observant Peter is under the goofy façade.  
"What if I did? Can you blame me?" Ronan retorts angrily, turning to face him. He overdoes it and stumbles, nearly falls.

Peter catches him, it seems like he always will.  
"No, bluebell, of course not. It's understandable that you are upset, I mean, it's an awful lot to take in.- Peter says, a sad sort of gentleness in his voice and in the touch of his hands on his bare skin - It's hard for you, I know, but it doesn't need to be any harder than it already is. Don't cut us off. Talk to us. Let us help. That's all we are asking." he adds, and his unconditional support makes Ronan feel at the same time stronger and unable to let go of him.

"These don't change anything between us." Gamora whispers, slipping inside their embrace. Her fingers trace the edge of the wounds from top to bottom with gentle determination and just the right amount of pressure for the hypersensitive flesh to send through him jolts of pure, raw sensation instead of pain. His breath hitches involuntarily.

"It pains me to see you in pain, but I feel no horror when I look at you. - she adds - It just looks like you are wearing your old warpaint, only it's a bit more... permanent." she concludes.  
Her hand slides down his face once more, and this time he doesn't quite manage to repress a helpless little whimper. That feeling, at the edge of pleasure and pain, just does it for him, and his until-then limp manhood, suddenly jumps to startled attention.  
"Highly appropriate, then. We are going to war, after all..." he manages to say, low and hoarse.  
Gamora kisses any further words away from his lips.  
"Yes, we are. All of us together, like we promised each other. - she says - These will fade, in time. What we feel for you won't." she promises.

"And, to be honest, you're still damn sexy like this. - Peter butts in with a crooked smile before Ronan can reply - I mean, slightly more menacing than usual, but still very, very sexy." he adds, nuzzling into his neck and giving him a light love-bite.  
"In fact, you are so sexy that, if we weren't already late for the hearing, I'd show you little your scars bother me." he adds. His hands slide down from his shoulders, and Ronan is acutely and pleasantly reminded of the fact that he is wearing only bandages and nothing else.  
Peter is looking straight to his face, and in his gaze Ronan cannot see even a bit of disgust or pity.  
Peter cares for him, worries for him, and still wants him in spite of everything.  
Suddenly he feels like laughing and crying at the same time. His worries seem so stupid and unfounded, that he doesn't understand how he could have even entertained them for a moment, how he could have doubted them.

Peter's hands sneak lower still and Ronan is tempted to let him touch him however he likes, but they are already running slightly late, and he needs his wits about him for the hearing, while Peter's touch is sure to leave him pleasantly worn out for quite a while.  
"Later..." he whispers, stopping his _meri_'s hand with his own just before the target. His manhood twitches in frustrated need, but Ronan ignores it and lifts Peter's hand to his lips, kissing his palm and the inside of his wrist.  
"Later, when we are in our bed and no one is waiting outside of the door to escort us anywhere..." he adds softly, shifting his gaze towards Gamora even as he turns Peter's hand around and starts to kiss his knuckles.

Peter's eyes flutter closed and his breath hitches, just like that, and for a split second, Ronan doesn't really care that outside the door there are several Pretorians who would overhear exactly everything if they try to do anything, as long as Peter can be inside him, or he can be inside Gamora, or preferably both things can happen at the same time, but it is just a moment, and somehow he manages to let go of Peter and put at least a token distance between them.

"We need to stop this." he gasps. His body has grown accustomed to the rythms of the life he leads with Peter and Gamora, and now, after a week of feeling too rubbish and too worried, it is surging back to life with a vengeance and the soft, openly lustful look Gamora is giving him is not helping his self-control either.  
"Clothes, please?" he proposes.

Gamora blinks slowly and shakes her head.  
"Yes, of course... - she replies with a hint of embarrassment - Here." she adds, pushing a big paper bag towards him.  
Ronan sits on the bed and carefully unpacks, laying the clothes on the bed.  
The undershirt is brand new, the fabric is soft and it is open down the front so he won't have to lift his arms and put more strain on his scars to don it.  
The trousers are also new, dark blue with subtle red accents, as is the hoodie, but at the bottom of the bag there are his old combat boots and the leather jacket he took from the Xandarian ship, worn and soft and pretty much a part of him now.  
Practical clothes and thoughtful choices, meant to make him to feel comfortable.  
"Thank you." he says.  
Gamora smiles and nods.  
"Want any help to put them on?" Peter asks, pushing his luck as usual.  
"Maybe..." Ronan retorts teasingly.

Peter and, quite surprisingly, Gamora too, tease him right back as they help him, with light fingers, lips and tongues.  
By the time he is fully dressed, Ronan feels very warm, awake and alive, and very grateful to be so.  
He pulls up his hood and picks up Keenblade, and with discreet help from his _meryw_, walks out of the hospital room.


	33. Chapter 33

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to diarmour and for the reviews. Ronan is always sexy, no matter what.

I hope this makes up for the week of waiting.

Warnings: politics, guilt by the bucketload, expiation journey, some language and Drax being Drax.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

The Council has convened in a large hall in the Imperial Palace.  
A large table occupies one end of the room, raised on a squattish dais. Emperor J'son is sitting at the centre of the table, dressed in almost full formal regalia, a cloak of purple streaming from his shoulders. To his right sits Majestrix Lilandra of Shi'ar, to his left Nova Prime, and next to her sits High Priestess Derdriyu, with the rest of the heads of state arranged along the length of the table.  
At one end, looking none too happy to be there, sits a grey-haired, grey-bearded old man with a golden eyepatch, Odin All-Father. Ronan recognises him from the descriptions Peter and Loki gave of him.

Loki himself is standing on one side, together with Nebula, Drax, Rocket and Groot.  
He is proudly displaying his Jothunn heritage, blue skin and all, and his arm is slung affectionately around Nebula's shoulders.  
Odin's gaze shifts angrily between the pair and Ronan's little party as they walk into the hall.

A honour guard of the Sacred Batallion bars their way. Ronan dips his head in a sketchy little bow, feeling the scars on his torso stretch a bit, and hands Keenblade over to him for safekeeping. The man bows in turn and clears the way.  
With a last look at Peter and Gamora, Ronan advances alone towards the high-backed chair set below the dais and stops next to it, supporting himself with a hand on the top of the backrest.  
The eyes of the entire Council are on him. He ignores the stares. It is nothing different from the proceedings of a Kree court, only he is the accused this time, or at least it feels like.

"I hope that you will forgive me for not kneeling before you, o Councillors. - he offers apologetically - I am not sure I'll be able to stand up again, if I do." he adds with a little wry smile. Just a few more days and he'll be back on the battlefield, but at the moment he is still feeling weak and unbalanced.  
"It is understandable, given the circumstances. - Emperor J'son declares, nodding in understanding - Please, take a seat. This Council has many questions for you. It might take a while." he adds. He is striving for formal and neutral, but Ronan knows that Peter's father is on his side and wants to help him.

As strange as it might seem, Emperor J'son considers him family.  
In the space of less than two years, he has gone from being the last of his House, lonely and isolated, to being part of a messy, complicated, multispecies clan, from being unable to relate to others, to exchanging vows with two amazing, incredible people.  
Legal freedom seems hardly important in comparison with the things he has gained from being a _haaq_.

He sits down, looking straight at the Councillors, one after the other, without any fear. Whatever their questions, he has nothing to hide.

"Ronan, former Accuser of the Kree, - Nova Prime starts - would you tell this Council how did you come to be taken as a _haaq_ by the so-called Guardians of the Galaxy?" she prods haughtily.  
Faced with the perspective of having to re-hash the whole story once more, for a moment, Ronan is tempted to respond in the most succint and restricted way to her question, forcing her to work her way through the whole story question by question, but eventually decides against it.  
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. It needs to be done.

"After the peace treaty between my people and Xandar, I rebelled against the Kree Ruling Council together with a cadre of lesser officers of the army. We became rogue agents and put ourselves in service of Thanos, hoping to use him as a threat against Xandar and obtain a re-negotiation of the iniquitous terms of the treaty. - he narrates, forcing himself to stay detached from the facts - Thanos assigned me two aides, his daughters, and sent me on errands to test my loyalty before he intervened on my behalf. Following his orders, I..." his voice suddenly breaks. He takes another deep breath to steady himself, then turns to glance at Drax.  
The Destroyer meets his eyes for a fraction of a second and nods.  
Ronan nods back at him. He owes this to Drax and to all the other people who perished because of him.

"Following his orders, I have brought death and destruction to entire corners of the Galaxy. - he confesses - I don't remember how many people I have personally killed, and the number of those that have lost their life because of my actions is likely to be in the tens of thousands. It would have been much higher if the Guardians had not stopped me."

"You are not even attempting to give a varnish of virtue to what you did..." Nova Prime comments.  
"Why should I? - Ronan retorts, giving her a withering look - There is no virtue in causing the suffering of innocents, no honour in the slaughter of defenceless civilians. I was too blind with anger and desperation to see that what I was doing was not justice. Now I know." he declares.

"You realise this is not helping your cause, don't you, young man?" Dowager Emperess R'tha chimes in, sounding strangely maternal.  
"I wasn't aware I was supposed to help any cause but that of justice. - Ronan replies - This Council wants the truth. This is the truth, no matter how I wish it wasn't so." he adds, feeling his eyes sting with tears. He clenches his fists until his fingernails bite into his palms. It helps him keep his composure.

"Are there no extenuating circumstances to your actions?" the Duchess of Gramosia asks quietly.  
"Do they matter faced with the consequences of my actions?" Ronan retorts.  
"You are a stern judge of yourself." the Duchess comments. She is a gentle soul, like Peter said, and a glib diplomat, a bit like Derdriyu.  
"I was a stern judge of others. - Ronan replies - It would defeat the entire purpose of justice if I held double standards."

Emperor Kl'rt chuckles and shakes his head.  
"I am still trying to decide if you are totally nuts, or the sanest among us, blue-face. - he comments - Why don't you say it? The Nova blew up your people, you wanted to blow them up as payback. Revenge is an understandable motivation." he adds, scratching his prominent chin.  
"Revenge is useless. It does not bring closure, but tears open more wounds and perpetuates itself. - Ronan retorts, shaking his head - I wanted justice, I wanted to see the perpetrators punished according to the law. I wasn't the only one. Tens of thousands of the Kree have lost loved ones in the Great Fires..."

"This is irrelevant! - Nova Prime intevenes shrilly - We are not here to talk about the Great Fires, but to decide whether this man deserves to be freed!"  
"Of course this is relevant, sister! - Derdriyu retorts tersely - I was training as an Accuser myself, before I lost my sight in the Fire of the Great Temple of Hala, and I know that the motive is always worth investigating in a trial." she adds.  
"I second High Priestess Derdriyu's objection." Majestrix Lilandra declares, feathers ruffling in agitation.  
Emperor J'son gives Nova Prime an apologetic look, thern turns back towards Ronan.  
"Go on, if you please." he orders.

Ronan nods.  
"Thank you, Councillors. - he says - The Great Fires were a terrible trauma for my people, they were the reason why we kept on fighting an otherwise useless war. The treaty denied us any kind of closure. It put the blame of the war on us, made us into scapegoats. The biggest tragedy in the history of the Kree Empire would have been left forever unpunished." he narrates, looking straight at Nova Prime as he speaks.  
Her face is almost perfectly inexpressive, but he can see a hint of worry in her pale eyes.

"I couldn't live with this knowledge. - Ronan continues - I let my anger over this consume me. If there was no justice in this Universe, I would make it with my own hands." he concludes, looking down at his hands and imagining them stained with blood.  
"So you are trying to justify yourself, after all..." Nova Prime comments.  
Ronan shakes his head.

"No, Madam, I am just explaining myself. - he retorts - There is no justification for what I did, or for what I was about to do to your people. Killing innocents wouldn't have brought my family back, it would have just created more people like me, desperate and broken enough to be unable to acknowledge any solution beyond more violence, more destruction..." he explains.  
He thinks of Drax, and of how his actions had nearly pushed him on the same path. How many more people like him are out there because of him?  
"It would have just given Thanos more toys to play his deadly game with." he concludes. Tears are blurring his vision and tracking down the furrows of his scars. He wipes them away with the back of his hand and takes a deep breath.  
He cannot break now. He has to pull it through.  
He owes this to the memory of all the victims of this senseless game.

"Yes, right. About this... - Emperor J'son intervenes, sounding a bit embarrassed - During the previous sessions of this Council, several witnesses have given their statements on this point. The Council now knows that Thanos was manipulating all our governments to breed wars and escalate them to genocidal levels." he declares.  
"The Council also knows that Thanos is in possession of the Mind Gem. - Majestrix Lilandra takes over from him - We know that he had been using it on Loki and on you to make you do things that you wouldn't have done otherwise." she adds gently.  
Ronan keeps quiet, waiting.

"What my fellow Councillors are trying to say, is that the attack on Xandar had likely been in Thanos' plans for years. - Lilandra continues - He deliberately pushed things to create a situation where it was nearly inevitable that someone would... react." she argues.  
Ronan frowns at her words. Are those two trying to give him an easy way out? He doesn't know whether to be grateful or irritated with them for dangling in front of him a boon he cannot accept.

"It is almost certain. - Ronan agrees - Even if I had not, sooner or later someone else would have been pushed to the point of no return and set his plan into motion. That doesn't change the fact that it was _me_." he adds calmly.  
Lilandra gives him a perplexed look. J'son frowns.  
"What the hell...?!" he mouths.  
Only Derdriyu seems placid as usual. She nods. She understands.

"Thanos might have twisted my mind afterwards, but I went to him willingly, and dragged my comrades to damnation with me. - he continues - I could have taken any other path, but I did not. I chose it of my own free will, and I have been living with the consequences of my choices ever since. I will not start hiding behind a convenient excuse now." he declares, looking defiantly at Nova Prime. She stares back at him in silence for a long moment, then looks down at some notes laid down on the table in front of her and starts fiddling with them.

"Do you regret your choice?" the duchess asks quietly.  
"I do. - Ronan replies, even more softly - But my repentance doesn't change my actions." he objects.  
"And what about the deeds you have done since your capture? - Emperor J'son intervenes - You have saved many people during the battle of the Temple. You have inspired many to fight against Thanos." he adds, a tiny bit desperate now. Why is he so worried?

"I am glad that I did." Ronan replies. He even manages a small smile.  
"But as the saying goes, a good deed doesn't erase a bad one." he adds.  
"But it balances it, at least." the Emperor insists.  
"Perhaps. This is for you Councillors to judge. - Ronan retorts calmly - I didn't act the way I did to gain, what is the word? Ah, yes, brownie points. I have decided to fight against Thanos because it is _Ma'at_. Using this decision as a bargaining chip would diminish its significance." he explains.  
"Won't you speak in your defence at all?! - J'son exclaims - Not even if remaining silent means that you might spend the rest of your life in a prison, apart from your loved ones?" he asks. There is urgency in his voice, and his gaze quickly flicks towards Nova Prime.

Ronan looks at her with astonishment. She is still looking at her notes, but she raises her head for just a fraction of a second and meets his gaze. She nods almost imperceptibly and returns to her notes.  
Why is she trying to force the Council's hand on this? Can she really do it?  
She must be trying to force him to beg for leniency so that her Nova officers might be allowed the same treatment during the inquest on the Great Fires.  
Why is she so set on shielding them?

And more importantly, is he strong enough to accept the risk of a lifetime away from his _meryw_ in exchange for justice?  
Ronan feels his heart race at the thought.  
He knows that he won't be able to cope without the Guardians, and especially without Peter and Gamora, he'd lose his mind and any will to live, but it would be equally impossible for him to go on with his life with the knowledge that with his selfishness, he'd have ruined once again the chance for his people to obtain justice and closure.  
He looks towards Peter and Gamora and tries to make them understand that he is sorry about this, that it breaks his heart, but he doesn't have a choice. Not really.

"No, sir. I can't. - he replies, though his heart aches and his hands shake in anger and worry - I can only ask that this court judges me fairly. I will abide by its verdict, whatever it may be. If it decrees that I should be locked away, I will say my farewells. One cannot follow the parth of justice only when he likes the outcome." he concludes, staring again at Nova Prime, even though she refuses to meet his gaze.

"_Bakh-ker!_ So be it!" shouts someone from the rear of the hall.  
Ronan twists in his chair.  
It is Morthwyl, one of his lads. He has stepped out from the crowd and is standing alone, a fist raised in the air. His face is streaked with tears.

"_Bakh-ker!_" Euan calls out in turn, punching the air like it has done something to offend him.  
"_Bakh-ker!_" Shanleigh, one of the few female officers he has ever trained, and one of the best overall, adds her voice to the incipient choir.

One by one, all the Kree in the room raise their fists and their voices, and then Peter does too, shouting defiantly despite the tears, and then Gamora, and Drax.  
"I am Groot!" yells little Groot, an angry frown creasing his bark.  
"Fuck yeah, buddy!" Rocket shouts, nearly jumping into the air as he raises his fist.

Loki and Nebula follow suit, repeating the words though they don't know what they mean, then Helenai and Gladiator and most of their warriors raise their fists with them, until the back of the hall is full of raised fists and grim faces.  
Until Denaarian Dey raises his fist too together with a few other Nova officers. They look straight at their head of state, and Nova Prime finally looks up from her notes and directs an undecyphrable but intense gaze at them.

"That is enough, fellows." Emperor J'son admonishes. He sounds stern and slams his hand on the table, but doesn't quite manage to hide a relieved little smile.  
"I think we have seen and heard enough for today. - he adds - I propose that this Council retires for judgement. Unless you have any further questions, that is."  
One by one the members of the Council shake their heads or otherwise signal their denial.  
"Then it is agreed. - Emperor J'son declares - You are free to return to your lodgings. After what you said, I imagine that there is little risk of you running away, right, young man?" he adds, turning towards Ronan.

"None at all, sir. I will be here tomorrow, come whatever may." Ronan declares.  
"Good. - the Emperor comments - The hearing is adjourned until tomorrow at noon." he declares, slamming his hand on the table once more.

Nova Prime stands up and leaves, and, as Peter had told him, the young Kree from the Temple leaves after her, dogging her footsteps like a faithful hound.  
The other Councillors start to leave too. Before she walks away, Derdriyu turns his way.  
"_Bakh-ker_." she mouths discreetly.  
Ronan feels a bit comforted by her endorsement. He pushes himself out of the chair, but before he can even fully stand, Peter is already wrapping him in a tight, desperate hug.  
Ronan cannot do anything but hug him back.

"I am sorry, Peter... - he whispers as he pets his _meri_'s hair - I didn't know it would come to this, but I couldn't..." he tries to say.  
"I know. I know... - Peter whispers - I... Fuck, it wasn't fair to stick you in this situation, and without any warning. It just wasn't." he adds.  
"Why is Nova Prime raising the bar once more? What is she trying to prove?" Ronan asks.

Gamora appears, looking like thunder is brewing in her chest.  
"It's because of the trial for the Great Fires. - she replies, nearly trembling in anger - Derdriyu is trying to have the Council hold it, and use it as an occasion to draw up intergalactic laws on warfare." she explains.  
"So that what happened between us and Xandar can never happen again." Ronan concludes for her, a tiny bit awed.  
He had thought that a government bereft of the guide of the Ancients, as imposed by the treaty, would never do anything good, but the old collective AI cobbled together from the minds of great people of the past could have never dreamed or endorsed something like this, even though it feels clearly like _Ma'at_.

"Exactly. - Gamora confirms - The Xandarian government, however, probably sees this as an undue invasion in their sovereignty. They still think they are the good guys, they don't want anyone to tell them what's the limit, so Nova Prime must be trying to sabotage the Council." she reveals.  
"She know that my dad and Derdryu care for you too much to want to stick you in jail, and that Kl'rt and Lilandra think that you'll be useful in the fight against Thanos. - Peter adds, still holding on to him for dear life - She must be trying to force them to throw the judgement badly, so that she can demonstrate that they are not impartial, have her own private gig about the trial, and cover as many of her buddies' arses as she can."

Someone clears their throat close to them. The three of them turn in their direction.  
"Denaarian Dey... - Ronan greets, politely inclining his head - Thank you for your support earlier."  
The Xandarian smiles nervously and nods in turn.  
"It's nothing. - he minimises - I kind of overheard you talking about Xandar's stance on the Council..." he adds.  
Ronan looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.  
"Yeah, so what?" Rocket butts in, puffing his chest to look more threatening.  
"Well, you weren't very far from the mark in your analysis, Guardians. - Dey admits quietly - I don't know how much of it is due to Madam Rael's own opinion on the matter, though." he adds, somewhat mysteriously.  
"What do you mean?" Peter asks.  
"Yeah, buddy! What is going on here?" Rocket insists, prodding him in the belly.

Dey looks around nervously.  
"I want to tell you everything, but I can't talk about this here. - he says - I can't expose myself too much." he adds.  
"What if we find somewhere more quiet?" Gamora asks, quirking a thin eyebrow.  
"Then it would be another matter entirely." Dey acquiesces.  
Gamora nods solemnly.  
"Wait here, pretend you're talking about something else. I'll be right back." she instructs, stalking away towards Helenai and Nebula.

"What?!..." Dey stammers, looking around in confusion.  
"Chill, Dey. Do what she said. - Rocket advises, grabbing his arm - Let's talk about smashball." he proposes.  
"I don't even like smashball!" Dey protests.  
"Are you sure you're not related to Drax?" Rocket teases.  
"My great-grandmother married a Xandarian, now that I think of it." Drax chimes in, with his usual blindness for sarcasm.  
"Really?" Dey replies, also missing the point. He seems genuinely interested.  
Rocket hits his palm against his forehead and shakes his head.

After less then a minute, the conversation between Drax and Dey becomes so mind-boggling to be nearly impossible to follow.  
Off to one side, Ronan spots Gamora, deep in conversation with Helenai.  
Gamora turns minutely towards them and flashes a discreet signal.  
"We have a place." he says quietly.  
The conversation pauses for a moment, but Rocket gestures for them to go ahead and talk.  
"M... R... 3" Peter says quietly as he decyphers Gamora's and his sister's signals.  
"What the hell does it mean?" Rocket asks between gritted teeth.  
"Meeting Room 3. - Ronan explains - Where we had our first meeting three weeks ago."  
There is general nodding, apart from Dey.  
"When you get out of here, second to the left and then the third door on the left. - Peter reveals - Meet us there in ten minutes." he instructs.  
Dey nods and takes his leave, resolutely taking to the right as he goes out.  
"He is a nice fellow. - Drax comments - We might be third cousins on his mother's side. Isn't it amazing?"


	34. Chapter 34

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to diarmour, Raptorwen, importchic and Priest of Pain for the reviews.

I will be posting late next week, because I am at a conference until Tuesday, and after that, I will finally be on holiday for two weeks with very limited internet access, so there will be no more updates until I am back.

Warnings: politics, guilt by the bucketload, expiation journey, some language and some illegal stuff going on. And oh, a cliffhanger.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

Ten minutes later, they are all sitting in the meeting room.  
"What are these people doing here?" Dey asks, looking pointedly at Helenai and Gladiator, then at Loki and Nebula and finally at Vesta.  
"They're family." Peter retorts with a shrug.  
"And we all want the Council to succeed." Vesta chimes in.  
"And to keep Ronan and ourselves out of jail." Nebula adds, tapping her metal fingers on the table.

"So, what is the problem with Nova Prime again?" Rocket jumps straight into business.  
"There is no problem with her personally, at least I don't think so. She has been quite cryptic as of late. - Dey replies with a sigh - The problem is within the Senate." he reveals.  
His words are met with perplexed silence.  
"Alright, let me get this straight. - Dey starts, sighing again - Some of the people who made the call for the Great Fires are still in the Senate. They hold a lot of sway and influence among the most conservative and nationalist strata of Xandarian society, and they have a lot of friends with money in the heavy industry sector and in the media." he reveals.  
Ronan starts to realise what he is getting on about.

"Ever since the start of the Council and the first whiff of a trial over the Great Fires, these gentlemen have started a massive campaign against it. - Dey continues - They have been saying that the Council wants to strip the Nova Empire of it sovereign rights, that they want to mutilate our victory, spread infamy about our heroes... I'm sure you can imagine the rest." he adds.

From the looks on their faces, the Guardians can.  
"Fascist bastards!" Rocket growls.  
"More or less. - Dey agrees quietly - But after the events of last year, they have been on the rise in the polls, and they have been playing a lot on the fact that you haven't been executed or thrown in jail." he adds, looking pointedly towards Ronan.  
"So Nova Prime is trying to throw them a bone?" Peter asks.  
"Her position is very precarious. - Dey replies diplomatically - If they push too hard, her government might fall under pressure and those fascists and their friends would be in the best position to win the next general election. They would withdraw from the Council, undo everything you guys have fought to achieve." he explains.

"So to keep her seat, Nova Prime has either to show a firmer hand with me, or protect those criminals." Ronan summarises.  
"Or both." Loki adds.  
"It is not for her seat, look at the bigger picture! - Dey protests - Xandar still has the biggest fleet of the Council..."  
"Only because you had the Kree destroy most of theirs with the treaty." Gladiator points out.  
Dey gives him a dark look and continues.  
"If we withdraw, the Council will be mutilated and Thanos would score a bloodless victory." he points out.

Ronan would like to object, but the Xandarian has a big, compelling point. He has vowed to himself that he would take part in the Mad Titan's downfall, he has imagined himself as a hero, a Guardian, but what if his part in this story is just to make sure that the real heroes are able to fight as they should?  
What if this is the fight he has been called to fight to ensure the salvation of everything, not against a foe, but against himself and his worldly attachments?

"So what do you want us to do? - Rocket asks - Roll over, show our bellies, and hand our buddy over like a present?!" he yells, pulling out his penknife and sticking it into the table so hard that it vibrates in place.  
"Yes, well, no. - Dey stammers, visibly scared - If you just let me..." he tries to explain, but Rocket is already standing up on his chair and hurling his choicest expletives against Dey.

"Rocket. Rocket! Calm down! - Ronan admonishes, grabbing the Raccoon by the collar and forcing him to sit down - He is right." Ronan says gravely.  
This stops the argument immediately, and everyone turns towards him.  
"What do you mean?!" Rocket exclaims, looking astonished.  
"Nova Prime will be seen as the driving force behind the harsh sentence the Council will mete out, she will regain her standing on Xandar and can keep on propping up the Council. - he explains - And as a bonus, the Council will have its impartiality validated. Those men will pay for what they did. It will be victory for all." he concludes.  
"It's not going to happen. - Peter objects - Emperor J'Son would never stick you in jail, and I doubt Derdryu would either."  
"They will, once they know what is at stake." Ronan declares.

Peter stares at him looking wounded, but eventually lowers his head and thumps his fist on the table.  
"Fuck!" he exclaims.  
Ronan lays a hand on his arm and squeezes gently in reassurance.  
"I don't like this either. I want to stay with you. I promised. - he whispers - But it is the only way."  
"No." Gamora declares shaking her head.  
"Gamora..." Ronan calls, turning towards her.  
"No. - she repeats - I can't accept this. I have lost my family once already. I won't let it happen again." she declares. Her face is pale and her hands tremble. She grips the edge of the table and leans forward, as if she is on the verge of jumping at Dey's throat.  
"I won't accept this. - she repeats - There has to be another way, even if it means that I have to fly to Xandar and stil the those bastards' throats one by one." she threatens.  
"And that I have to help." Nebula adds, taking her stand next to her sister.

"Gamora, Nebula... this is not..." Ronan tries to say, but Gamora turns towards him swiftly as a snake.  
"Don't you try! - she shouts - You are selfless, a hero, and ready to sacrifice everything for the greater good. Well bully for you! I am not! I won't let those bastards take you away! We had terrible lives, all of us here! Don't we deserve at least a bit of happiness, for once?" she argues. This is maybe the first time Ronan sees her shout at anyone, and the first time he hears her swear.

"Those bastards took your family, ruined your existence, and now you have finally managed to heal, you are just going to hand over to them the rest of your life?!" she confronts him.  
"This is not just about me, or even us. If i don't do this, those people would just go on with their lives scot free!" Ronan retorts with a hint of a growl. It is already hard enough as it is, why does she have to make it even bloody harder?  
"What else am I supposed to do?" he asks, nearly shouting himself.  
"I don't know! But there has to be another way!" she exclaims.  
"Because there is, right? - she carries on, turning back towards Dey - Otherwise, why would you have bothered to get us somewhere private to discuss the matter? Otherwise, why would you have bothered to raise your fist in the Council hall so that your boss could see you?" she continues, a bit more quietly but not less decisively.

"There is, I promise. Just calm down, everyone, alright? - Dey declares, raising his hands in surrender - Do you remember your casefile on the Fires, the one you had on your ship?" he asks Ronan.  
The Kree nods, and Nebula and Gamora nod too. How could they not? He used to be obsessed by it.  
"Of course I do. What of it? It must have been destroyed either in the crash of the Dark Aster, or by order of Nova Prime" he says with a shrug.  
"It has not. I don't know how the drive survived your ship smashing into a few buildings, but it did..." Dey starts to narrate.  
"And once Nova Prime realised what was in there... She wouldn't throw away so much prime blackmailing material, would she?" Loki intervenes with a smug little smirk.  
Dey grimaces at the phrasing, but nods.  
"She had the contents stored in a secure drive on Xandar. - he reveals - Nova Prime told me to leave it the hell alone, but then let me see how it could be accessed." he reveals.  
"Why would she do something like that?!" Rocket exclaims.  
Dey shrugs. "Insurance, I suppose, in case something like this happened." he hypothesises.  
"I like your leader. She has style." Loki comments.

"Have you seen what's in it?" Ronan asks the Xandarian, giving him a long, inquisitive look. Dey's face drains of colour and his eyes go vacant for a moment as he recalls. He has seen it.  
"I wanted to understand why you hated us so much." he confesses.  
"And did you?" Ronan insists, watching him closely.  
Dey hesitates only for a moment. "Yes. - he admits - What those people did, what they ordered done... It was monstrous, unacceptable."  
He makes a rather long pause, perhaps trying to find the words.  
"I still don't like you. I still think you are a crazy bastard. - he blurts out, returning Ronan's stare - But I know at least you have been trying to make amends. And I know what you can do on a battlefield, I have seen it. We will need you in this war, so if it comes to the choice between screwing over those fascists or you, I pick _them_." he declares, sliding something out of his jacket and setting it on the table.  
It is a slim, compact hard disk.

"You made a copy of it?!" Peter exclaims, holding out a hand to touch its smooth, white plastic surface.  
Dey nods once more.  
"All four terabytes of it." Dey confirms.  
"That's a lot of stuff!" Helenai comments with admiration.  
"The work of a lifetime." Dey agrees with an almost proud smile.  
Ronan manages to smile back at him. It seems unreal. He thought it lost, and in a way it is still a symbol of his obsession, but now it is also his best hope of finally, finally setting things right, once and for all.

"And what do you plan to do with it? - Nebula asks - Make more copies and threaten the fascists?" she asks.  
"Possibly..." Dey replies, like someone who has not really thought the plan through yet.  
"I am Groot! I am _Groot_!" Groot chimes in.  
"I like the idea, but how do you plan to shame them all in front of the whole Universe? It's rather big." Drax objects.

"The ComNet! - Vesta suggests - When a video becomes viral, there is almost no way of eradicating it. Everyone would see it!" she explains.  
"Could you make a video out of this?" Dey asks.  
"Of course I could. - Vesta replies smugly - Not alone, though. I don't want to be eyeballing four terabyte of death and gore on my own, and I would never make it in time for noon tomorrow. It's half past two already."  
"You're not doing it, little sister! - Gladiator warns - If they trace the video back to you, we'd have a diplomatic crisis with Xandar to deal with." he explains.  
"They would not. I know my tricks. I am not just your average clairvoyant, I have mad hacking skills too. - Vesta retorts, crossing her arms on her thin chest - I'd create a warren of fake accounts with fake IDs, and pretend to be a hacktivist group. I could tie them in knots."

At her words, Ronan feels as if an electric shock has gone through him.  
"Why pretend? - he chimes in - You said you can't do it on your own, right, good-sister?"  
"Right, but..." she starts to object.  
"Someone hand me a comm, please. I'm going to call for help." he announces.

His comm starts ringing in the distance, then stops almost immediately.  
"Lukan it is for you! - Siobhan calls out from the changing room behind the stage - It's a guy called Coehl! Says it's urgent!" she adds.  
Lukan leaves his scriptwriting mid-sentence and darts towards the comm.  
Coehl from the Silk Den, he thinks, tall, sexy and very much in love. Did his Xandarian boss dump him? Why would he comm urgently to his account otherwise?

"Hey, handsome!" he greets into the comm. The caller ID is hidden and Coehl has not activated his camera, he notices, staring at the black screen. It is odd.  
"Greetings, Lukan. - Coehl replies - I am sorry I didn't make contact in the last few weeks. Life has been a bit... hectic." he says apologetically.  
"Don't worry. It has been quite crazy around here as well. So... did you finally hook up with your boss?" Lukan teases.  
There is a brief hesitation, then Coehl makes an affirmative noise.  
"Yes, I did." he admits.

"Bugger! There goes my hope of dating the sexiest sub I have ever met..." Lukan thinks, but in truth he cannot help being at least a bit happy for the two of them.  
"It was worth the risk, wasn't it?" he asks.  
"It was. It was worth every minute of the wait." Coehl confesses.  
"Good for you, mate. I am glad you sorted it out. - Lukan declares - So, did you call to chat? Or is there something urgent going on?" he asks.  
"Your status says you are on Spartax Prime." Coehl says, pretty much as a non sequitur.  
"I am. We rented a small warehouse in Lakedaimon to set up our show, my mates and I. - Lukan replies - We have been having a decent success, until all hell broke loose at the wedding. Now people are a bit too worried to care for the performative arts." he explains ruefully.  
"Have you seen it?" Coehl asks.  
Lukan nods at the camera.  
"We were in the plaza, watching the ceremony from the widescreens. - he explains - It was crazy, man. Totally, utterly nuts. It has been all over the news and the ComNet ever since." he adds, to keep the conversation going. It is hard to tell without being able to see him, but he reckons that his weird Kree friend is rather nervous, for some reason.

"It was. - Coehl agrees - I was in there." he reveals.  
"What?! How did you get in? Is your boss with the press?" Lukan asks, flabbergasted.  
He would have given anything to gatecrash the 'Wedding of the Century', but security had been tighter than a vice grip, and in retrospect, he is glad that he hasn't managed. Weddings shouldn't come with a casualty count.

"Things are a bit more complicated than that. - Coehl replies - I have not been completely truthful with you. My name is not Coehl, to begin with, and my master was not a Xandarian businessman." he reveals.  
"Who are you then? What do you want from me?" Lukan retorts, feeling like the situation is escaping from his grasp.  
"I will tell you, if you promise you will at least hear me out." the man who is not Coehl replies.  
"Deal." Lukan agrees.  
The camera switches on on the other side.

The first thing Lukan sees are the scars, still fresh and raw, black-blue like blood.  
"Shit, man! - he exclaims, pressing a hand to his lips in horror and sympathy - What happened to you?!"  
"A nichilist with a blowtorch. - the Kree replies quietly - I had worse. I'll heal." he adds with a small smile.  
Lukan smiles back and forces himself to look again at that handsome, scarred face.  
And then suddenly he sees it, in the way the Kree looks at him from beneath his eyebrows, in the dark marks like tears of blood down his face.  
"Fuck... - Lukan exhales - You are him! That guy with the hammer!" he adds in terrified recognition.  
He remembers him from the news, looking merciless and unstoppable with that big, fucking hammer, and then bound and broken and covered in scars, as he was paraded throughout the city after his capture.

The Kree sighs and nods.  
"I am. - he admits - I am Ronan, former Accuser of the Kree, now _haaq_ to the Guardians. I am very sorry that I had to deceive you. Star-Lord and I were incognito, that night on K'soth." he reveals.  
Lukan's mind does a double-take again.  
"Star-Lord?! - he repeats, sticking his hands in his hair - The guy who was with you was Star-Lord?!"  
Ronan nods and manages a shy smile. He even blushes.  
He doesn't seem like a villain at all now, and he had not seemed like one at the Silk Den.  
Lukan can hardly believe he has chatted and flirted with and nearly kissed the scariest guy in the Galaxy Cluster, but at the time he seemed... normal, cute even.  
He shakes his head and laughs.

"Is there something wrong?" Ronan asks.  
Lukan shakes his head again.  
"Sorry, but this is crazy! - he replies - I mean! I am comming with _you_! And we are talking about your boyfriend, which incidentally is the same guy who made you look like a total plonker and kicked your butt to oblivion and beyond... And all of this seems normal, as if you weren't a crazy maniac!" he babbles, giggling to himself like an idiot.  
"I am no longer that person. I have changed." Ronan says with conviction.  
"Well, yeah. You didn't tear my head off when I teased you at the club, so whatever twelve-step program for recovering villains you have been following must have worked, at least a bit. - Lukan comments airily - I suppose you didn't comm me just to tell me that you've lied to me, though. Right?" he adds, turning more serious.

Ronan shakes his head again.  
"I need your help." he declares, and it paints a really, really scary scenario in Lukan's head. The guy was legendary for being able to tear through whole companies of Xandarian soldiers without breaking a sweat, and for being totally unkillable. If he is asking for help, shit is not just going to hit the fan, but already has, and is now being sprayed all over the room in a fine mist.

"I am not sure I can help you. - Lukan backs away - I am a playwright and a performer." he points out.  
"You told me you were an anti-war hacktivist, that you wanted to blow the whistle on violations of sentient rights. - Ronan retorts - Is it true, or do you use that just as a pick-up line?" he asks, quirking a hairless eyebrow and laying it thick on the sarcasm.  
"It is true. I was. The war is over now." Lukan replies stiffly.  
"True, but the abuses you lost so much to denounce still risk to go unpunished. - Ronan objects - What I am asking you to do is to help me blow the biggest whistle of them all." he adds, casting him an intense look.

"Are you talking about the Fires?" Lukan asks, awed by the mere idea. It is hard to imagine the effort that the highest ranks of the Nova Corps and the conservatives took to cover the whole thing up.  
Ronan nods.  
"D-do you have proof? Concrete proof, not just hearsay?" he insists.  
Ronan nods again and a wide grin appears on his face.  
"As much proof as you might want." he declares proudly.  
"Holy fuck!" Lukan exclaims, unable to keep silent. The idea of being able to finally give Illian Darhun and his gang of fascists what they deserve is enough to give him a hard-on.

"Will you help me, then?" Ronan asks, without dropping the smile. He is slightly terrifying like that.  
"Of course I will! - Lukan exclaims - What do I have to do?"


	35. Chapter 35

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to diarmour, and AuxLexikon for the reviews, and to Priest of Pain for his thoughtful comments.

This is shorter than usual, relatively light-hearted and a bit filler-ish, I know, but I fell a little bit in love with the idea of the hacktivists by watching Agents of SHIELD and Elementary and I had to write it. Plus, Rocket and videogames... I hope you will enjoy it.

So, as I said last time, I will be on holidays with no internet whatsoever, more or less for the next two weeks, so the next chapter will be posted on the week of the 28/09, but it will contain more smut. Happy, folks?

Warnings: nothing really. Langauge, maybe?

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

They enter the Imperial Palace from one of the service doors, pretending to be delivering some stuff. Ronan said to keep it quiet, so it is just him, his friend Siobhan, a video editing whiz, and his best mate and fellow exile Arand.

A dark-skinned Spartoi girl meets them at the entrance and guides them through the corridors, towards one of the royal apartments. The door opens and another girl, a Shi'ar, pulls them in.  
The room is big and looks like a cross between the apartments of a fairytale princess and a nerd cave. The decor is pastel, maybe done when the owner was younger, but the desks and walls are covered in high-spec computers and other pieces of kit.

"Cool gear! - Siobhan exclaims, cooing over a particularly wicked mixing deck - That yours?" she asks the Shi'ar.  
"It's mine, actually. - the Spartoi girl says - Andromake, daughter of J'son of Spartax, nice to meet you guys." she introduces herself, holding out a hand.  
Lukan shakes it with growing sense of unreality, and it gets even worse when the other girl introduces herself as princess Vesta of Shi'ar.  
He and Siobhan exchange a look. Arand shakes his head and chuckles. How did three hacktivists like them end up rubbing shoulders with two princesses?

"Did Ronan and the guys tell you what we need to do?" Andromake asks, very businesslike.  
Lukan nods.  
"Where is he? Where are Dey and the others?" he asks.  
"Elsewhere, pretending they don't know what we are doing. - Vesta replies - Plausible deniability is our best friend."  
"I suppose it is. - Lukan agrees - So, how do we do this? Any plans?" he enquires.  
The two princesses nod.

"Vesta is dealing with the logistics, I am doing the video. You guys help how you can, where you can." Andromake explains.  
"I'll do the video. Editing is my main gig." Siobhan announces.  
"Cool! - Andromake comments with enthusiasm and what looks like a hint of envy - What for? Ads? Music?"  
"Music and video-art. I do stuff for Lukan's company." Siobhan replies.  
"That sounds so cool! I wish I could have my own gig one day..." the princess sighs, then shakes her head and cracks her knuckles.  
"So... I have identified a few key materials to build the video around and I've thrown together a script. - Andromake explains, flopping on the chair in front of the biggest screen - I need help to find more and mount them. And I need a soundtrack and some voiceover." she adds.  
"I think I have the soundtrack. Kree funeral music. - Siobhan proposes - I heard it at my nan's funeral. It creeped the living daylights out of me."  
"Your nan was a Kree?" Andromake blurts out, genuinely surprised.  
Siobhan starts laughing.  
"_I_ am Kree, my dad's a merchant from Kilda. He runs a trading post on K'soth on behalf of House Lochlan. We are their vassals." she reveals.

The two girls look at her with wide-eyed astonishment. Siobhan is a giant of a girl, well over six feet tall, but apart from her dark-blueish lips and fingernails, she doesn't look the part, with her bronze skin and her dark hair, done in dreadlocks as thick as ropes.  
"The people from the Houses are all blue, warriors, scribes and scientist are for the most part blue as well, but us normal people, from the merchant caste downwards , we come in all colours, from very pale to dark brown, with varying degrees of blue pigment. We're all a bit blue around the edges, though. It's the blood." she explains, still with a hint of laughter.

"I suppose we have been hanging out with the nobs for too long, then. - Andromake jokes - It's even better that you are, at any rate. There are a lot of documents written in Kree and and I don't know it enought to read it fast." she adds.  
"If it's High Script we're still screwed. - Siobhan objects - I can't read it. It's not for the lower castes. Only the nobs learn it. "  
"Do you mean the crazy little pictures? - Andromake asks, turning towards the screen - I haven't seen any."  
"Awesome! Let's get cracking, then!" Siobhan exclaims, sitting down next to her and plugging in her terminal.

"These two have caught on like a house on fire..." Arand comments, nodding with approval.  
"Let's leave them at that. - Vesta suggests - We have two tasks ahead: staging an attack against the ComNet securities system of the Xandarian government, to cover our sources, and finding a safe way of uploading the video." she enumerates.  
"The first task is easy enough. - Arand chimes in - We've done it a few times in the last few years."  
"We were still in high school the first time." Lukan reminesces.  
"And they never caught you?!" Vesta sounds incredulous.  
"Not for that, but they caught us alright, otherwise we wouldn't be here, halfway across the Cluster." Lukan replies.  
"Let's hope your luck holds, guys. - Vesta comments - If they trace this back to us, to here, it is game over. The Council is just going to implode." she warns.  
"No pressure, eh?" Lukan comments.  
"None at all. - Vesta retorts with a cheeky smile - So, shall we start, gentlemen?" she asks teasingly.  
Lukan and Arand take a small bow and start unpacking their gear.  
"After you, Your Highness." Arand offers.  
Vesta chuckles and shakes her head, turning towards her screen.  
"First in gets two portions of cake!" she announces.  
"Cake?! Is there cake involved?!" Arand exclaims, pretending to freak out.  
"There will be, when we finish. - she promises - You don't want to see some of the stuff we have to work with on a full stomach, trust me." she adds, looking rather nauseous.  
"Oh, joy!" Lukan thinks.  
The perspective of gore doesn't fill him with enthusiasm, but it needs to be done. The war has finished, but the last embers of hate still smoulder unseen. Today they are the firefighters. Lukan feels privileged to be here, doing what he is doing.

Sitting down at a spare bit of desk, he pulls out his machine and accesses the terminal, tapping in the codes that will get him to the target.  
"Let's do this!" he whispers to the screen.

"Check!" Loki announces with glee.  
Ronan looks down on the board. It looks like the Jothunn has managed to back him into a corner. Again.  
He sighs and resists the temptation to rub his face.  
The painkillers have mostly worn off, and while he is not in great pain, he is still uncomfortable enough to get distracted. As if the thought of what the two princesses and Lukan's gang are doing was not distraction enough...

"I am not so rubbish at this game in normal circumstances." Ronan apologises.  
"Don't worry. It is understandable. - Loki reassures him - And besisdes I used to play with my brother Thor. He wasn't any good."  
"Too easily distracted?" Ronan asks.  
"Too impulsive. - Loki replies, stretching on the chair - You'd be a better opponent if you weren't so worried."  
"The wait is killing me." Ronan admits.  
"It is killing us all. The weigth of hope can be heavier than that of despair." Loki agrees, nodding gravely.  
"I never thought I'd have a second chance at making things right." Ronan confesses.  
"Would you really have let them lock you away to have it?" Loki asks.  
"I would, even if it would have killed me inside to lose all of this, all of you." he replies.

He lets his gaze wander around the rest of the lounge.  
Helenai and Gladiator have disappeared, like newlywed couples are wont to do, but Peter, Rocket, Groot and Drax are playing videogames in a corner, while Gamora and Nebula are sitting in another, heads together and holding each other's hands.

Growing up in the hands of a sadist, they only ever had each other as protection and company. They should have been the best of friends, but Thanos twisted their bond, pitting them mercilessly against each other, inciting competition, jealousy and hatred between them. He twisted and twisted, trying to break them apart. He didn't twist nearly enough, though, and now that they are free, and protected from his nefarious influence, it looks like things are slowly returning to what they should have been, and a weigth seems to have lifted from Gamora's shoulders.  
They are healing too.

"Will you really insist in declaring me part of the family?" Loki drawls. The tone seems to indicate that the matter bores him, but there is an almost hungry look in his red eyes. He cares. How could he not?  
"I will. You are Nebula's partner, and even if we are not bound by blood, we are united by fate and a common cause. - Ronan replies - Everyone needs some support sometimes. We can be yours, if you will let us." he adds.  
"Are you going to be my 'sponsor'?" Loki asks with a hint of sarcasm.  
Ronan gives him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?" he asks, perplexed by the terminology.  
Loki shrugs and waves a hand in the air dismissively.  
"It is a Terran custom. - he explains - People who have gone through a process of change are paired up with people who are still trying, in hopes that they can help their sponsees devise a path to their new life." he adds.  
"I don't think you need any help. - Ronan objects - I think your actions clearly show your true colours. You are a free man, and you are fighting the good fight. You have found the way already." he declares.  
"Many people do not see things your way." Loki objects.  
"Many people cannot see past your heritage. - Ronan retorts, grimacing in disapproval - I don't care what colour, shape or species you are. You stood beside us and defied Thanos. That is all that matters to me."  
"And just like that, I am kin to you?" Loki asks, once more letting some of his need for approval and support come to the surface.  
"Yes, just like that. Stand by me and I will stand by you. - Ronan replies - We all will, come whatever may."  
Loki smiles, and this time it is not a haughty smirk, but it is soft, boyish and genuinely grateful.  
"We make a rather successful team." he concedes, switching back to the suave persona he uses as a defence mechanism.  
"Yes, we do." Ronan agrees, reminiscing with satisfaction about the moment just before the bombs detonated in Thanos' face. A cruel smile spreads on his lips.  
Loki grins too. "I wish I could have taken a picture." he says.

They remain in companionable silence for a while more, looking at their friends and loved ones.  
"In spite of our past, it seems like we are lucky men, after all." Loki comments with fondness.  
Ronan nods and is going to comment more on the same line, but he doesn't manage to speak up in time.

"Hey, buddies! - Rocket exclaims - Are you done with that old men's game? Come play with us a bit!" he proposes  
Ronan and Loki exchange perplexed glances.  
"I have never played before." Loki says.  
"Me neither." Ronan adds.  
"It could be entertaining." Loki comments detachedly.  
"It is likely." Ronan agrees.  
"Maybe we should expand our horizons." Loki proposes.  
"It would be wise." Ronan comments, pushing himself out of the chair.

"So, what are you playing?" he asks.  
"Wormhole Ride. - Rocket replies - It's a spaceship race game." he explains, handing a controller each to Ronan and Loki, who turn it in their hands with perplexity.  
"If you tilt it sideways, the ship turns. - Drax demonstrates - Tilt it longitudinally and it dives or climbs. The right trigger button is the thruster, the left is the flaps." he adds, putting his ship theough a series of tight turns.  
"And the red button?" Loki asks with interest.  
"Lasers!" Rocket replies with a wide grin.  
Loki grins right back at him. "I suppose you can win by forfeit..." he comments.

Peter and Ronan start laughing. In spite of obvious differences in style, those two are alike in an uncanny way.  
"That's one way to put it. - Peter laughs - So are you game?" he asks.  
Loki nods and takes a seat.  
"It seems an enjoyable antidote to this forced inactivity." he declares.  
Peter smiles and shakes his head in baffled amusement.  
"And you, bluebell?" he asks, turning towards Ronan with the cutest imaginable puppy eyes.  
"It is never too late to make new experiences." the Kree replies with a shrug he immediately regrets.  
Peter notices, obviously, and leaves his seat on the couch, allowing him to sit down, while he plonks himself down on the floor at his feet, leaning against his legs.

"Alright, people! - Rocket exclaims - Here we go!" he announces.  
A timer counts down from ten and then the race starts among flashes of bright colours.

For a while Ronan is too preoccupied by what the hell Rocket and Loki are trying to do to be able to worry about anything else.  
It suits him just fine.


	36. Chapter 36

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to , Priest of Pain and thefreakoutsideyourwindow for their reviews.

Sorry for the one-week delay on top of the announced delay, but upon coming back from holidays I was swamped by work and by a few health issues. I hope that the smut will make up for it.

So, let's get to business.

Warnings: M/F/M smut with all the trimmings. I made you wait for it long enough.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

They retire early, much earlier than they used to since they arrived at the Palace.

Ronan's half-healed wounds give them a perfect excuse to hide in their room.  
He feels tired and actually had to take some painkillers around dinnertime, but the truth is that maintaining the pretence of calm in spite of what is going on in the Council and in Andromake's room is becoming very, very taxing.  
Finally lying down on their bed with his _meryw,_ away from prying eyes and ears, is an incredible relief.

Gamora and Peter start to help him out of his clothes, gently teasing him like during the morning. This time there is nothing to stop them, and Ronan does not hesitate to tease right back, sliding his hands under Gamora's shirt, and pulling it up, uncovering her breasts.  
She hates bras, and he loves the things that gravity does to her curves and the way her dark green nipples perk up when he blows on them.

"We don't have to do anything, if you don't want, alright, bluebell?" Peter whispers, even as he starts kneading the muscles in his back in a way that has Ronan already hard in his trousers.  
"You just need to tell us to stop and that's it. No pressure." he adds.  
Ronan frowns and gives him a blank stare.  
"What are you talking about?" he asks.  
"That man... Loki and Nebula said that he is... - Gamora says, turning his face gently back towards her - We don't want to trigger anything. We just want to make you feel good." she adds gently, stroking his cheek with her fingertips.

Ronan's heart nearly wrenches in a sudden surge of love.  
He kisses her as hard as the still-tender scars on his face allow him.  
"I am fairly new at this thing... - he says heatedly, pausing to capture her lips in another kiss - but I think I know the difference between lovemaking, and torture by way of forced sex. Nothing you might do will ever resemble what he wanted to do. This is as different from that as day from night." he declares.  
"Even so, tell us if you feel uncomfortable with something. - Gamora insists - We would never want to cause you harm or force you into things that you don't enjoy anymore." she adds.  
"Gamora is right. - Peter agrees - You set the pace this time." he declares.

"I will be fine with almost everything, I think. - Ronan replies with a certain confidence - Maybe I won't ask for bondage or bloodplay, at least not for a while, but I know I want you. I _need_ you. I have missed you so much, and now they might take all of this away..." he confesses, feeling his heart twinge again, this time with the anticipation of sorrow.

Gamora silences him with a kiss, while Peter manages to slide a hand inside his trousers and wraps it around his cock, giving it a good hard squeeze that has him arching helplessly and moaning against Gamora's mouth.  
"Don't say it." Peter rasps in his ear. Gamora has managed to unfasten his trousers and Peter is now stroking him in smooth, decisive pulls, while she seems intent in kissing the breath out of him.  
"Don't even think about it." Peter continues, his breath warm against his neck.  
Trapped between them like this, with her breasts pressed against his chest, and his cock twitching against his backside, and their warm hands and mouths seemingly everywhere at once, he can barely formulate any coherent thought.  
"Think only of us, of here and now." Peter insists, giving him another squeeze.

Ronan moans again and then nearly screams when Peter bites down on his neck, just as he likes it.  
He breaks the kiss to get some air, and somehow Peter manages to replace Gamora's mouth with his, while her smaller, smoother hands slide down his body to replace Peter's, gliding along his throbbing flesh. Ronan loves to be a their mercy like that.  
"What do you want, love?" she asks, momentarily stopping her torturous strokes to slide his trousers down his legs. He tries to help her, kicking them off his legs and nearly off the bed. He is totally bare now, apart from the bandages. In another life, he would have been ashamed, now he is only mildly miffed that his _meryw_ are still partially clothed.

Gamora's fingers slide along his cock in a subtle, barely-there caress that she knows he loves. He can't help but jerk and twitch under her touch, and then she takes hold of his balls in her hand and squeezes them gently, oh so very gently, but firmly, letting him feel that she is in control, that she owns him.  
He moans in pleasure, broken sounds escape from his lips and Peter has to hold him down or he'd jerk upright and risk tearing his wounds open all over again.  
"What do you want?" Gamora asks again, smoothing her hands along his hips and legs to help him calm down enough to be coherent.  
"You... - he manages to rasp - I want you both." he confesses, still trembling from the aftershocks of what she has been doing to him.  
Her eyes go dark and huge and a dark flush creeps up her face. At his back, Peter lets out a small whimper and his manhood jumps like a beached fish, still trapped in his trousers.  
They are both affected by his words, they both want it as much as he does.  
"Are you sure?" Peter growls close to his ear.  
"Yes! Sweet Pama, yes! - Ronan exclaims, tangling a hand in Peter's curls as the Terran starts nipping and sucking his neck - I want to be trapped between you. I want to feel you both at the same time. Please... please!" he nearly whines, dignity all but forgotten. He is more desperate for it now, than he was the first time. You can't miss something you've never had.

"It's hard to say no to anything you ask, when you ask it like this..." Peter whispers, releasing his grip on him and helping him to sit up.  
Peter is the only one who is still fully dressed. At this point it is hardly appropriate.  
Ronan and Gamora make short work of his clothes, then Ronan turns towards Gamora and tackles her to the bed.  
They kiss frantically as they both try to get her out of her trousers and panties as fast as possible. She seems as desperate as he is, and shivers helplessly as his hands move along her body, tracing her hard, lean muscles and her soft, pliant curves, her warm, smooth skin and her cool, sleek implants. She is a creature of contrasts, and he loves every facet of her being.

His hands move lower and lower, and his mouth follows suit. He is probably going to regret this, come morning, but he can't resist the temptation of tasting her, of giving her everything he has to give, everything he is.  
He grasps her pert breasts, marvelling once more at how her soft flesh yields to his touch, and worships them as best as he can, kissing and licking and nipping, and when he starts sucking gently on her nipples, Gamora mewls and whimpers and arches underneath him. Somewhere behind him, Peter lets out a strangled noise of pleasure. Ronan can feel him watching them, he can feel the heat of his gaze. It is a heady feeling.

He can't resist their reactions. One of his hands moves lower still, slipping between Gamora's legs, parted for him, and he finds her wet and welcoming, and it feels so good that he can't help but moan with her and yearn to be inside her.  
Not yet, he tells himself. Not yet.

They are all so desperate tonight that it is unlikely they will be able to pull back, once they start moving together, and he wants Gamora to be ready for that, to be as close to rapture as he and Peter will be. Maybe a bit more than that...  
He loves how he and Peter can sometimes bring her to completion over and over again, until she is barely able to string a coherent sentence together.

"You don't have to do it..." she manages to say when his mouth joins his hands between her legs.  
"I don't want to hurt you..." she adds, and until that moment, Ronan had not really thought about the fact that going down on her might be uncomfortable for him.  
"Let me try, please..." he pleads nonetheless, giving her folds an experimental lick. She shudders and tries to arch, but he places a hand flat on her belly and manages to keep her down.  
"I love doing this to you. I love making you feel good. - he adds in a whisper - I'll stop if it hurts, but please, let me at least try." he insists.  
Gamora hesitates and seems on the verge of making further objections.

"Would it help if I held you? - Peter intervenes - Would it make you feels safer?" he asks.  
Gamora's eyes go wide, her breath hitches and her pulse jumps in her neck. She nods frantically. So far she had never asked to be topped by either of them, but tonight she seems so very eager for it.  
"Please..." she nearly moans and Peter immediately complies. He helps her to half-sit, and slides behind her, resting his back against the headboard and letting her lean against his chest. His legs twine with hers and he wraps his arms around her middle, pinning her arms against her body. She is stronger than Peter and she knows it, she could quite easily break his hold if she wanted but, even if the gesture is symbolic, it still does it for her.

"Don't move." Peter whispers in her ear, and Gamora just nods wordlessly and when Ronan starts licking and sucking her clit in earnest, she stays almost completely still.  
Usually, she is the most restrained and collected of the three of them, but this time her pleasure spills from her lips in moans, sighs and broken pleas, and, hell, it _does_ hurt a bit, Ronan thinks, but to see her like this seems worth any kind of sacrifice.

"I am close!" she warns with a hint of alarm.  
"Oh, yes. I can feel it..." Ronan growls, pausing only for a moment.  
He looks up at his _meryw_, at Gamora's flushed face and straining body, at Peter's darkened eyes and slack expression.  
"Come for me, my _merit_. Please..." he encourages her, twisting his fingers inside her, looking for _that_ spot that makes whimpers fall faster from her lips, but she just tenses and tenses, trembling in all her limbs, and shakes her head.  
"I'll hold you. - Peter promises - Just let go, alright? I won't let you hurt him." he encourages, tightening his hold on her.  
Gamora whimpers again and nods, and when he starts pleasuring her again, Ronan can feel her let go and relax, he can feel her fill with a different, altogether more pleasurable kind of tension.  
And then suddenly it breaks, and Gamora is screaming and her pleasure is gushing over his lips and fingers, and there is nothing sweeter than that feeling.

"Oh, gods!" Peter exclaims, a desperate undercurrent to his words.  
"You are so beautiful... - he adds fervently - Both of you."  
Ronan allows himself a smirk as he wrings the last drops of pleasure from Gamora, licking her tender, swollen flesh a while more. Oh, he loves the sounds she makes when they push her past the limit.

"Stop! Stop now, please!" she begs eventually, abandoning herself completely to Peter's embrace.  
Ronan does. He rises to his knees between their spread legs, and hugs them both.  
Gamora smiles a lazy smile at him, freeing a hand from Peter's hold and gently tracing the scars on his face.  
"I told you it was going to be fine." Ronan whispers, laying his forehead against hers.  
"Thanks..." she whispers, giving him a quick kiss.

Peter whimpers in need, and Ronan moves to him, kissing him deeply and letting him taste Gamora on his lips. Peter moans against his mouth, trapped in turn, and for a moment Ronan is tempted to ask Gamora to help him take Peter apart, but however nice it might be, however tempting, that is not what he needs, what he yearns for. If he knew that they had forever for real, he would yield to that temptation, but tomorrow might never come, and he is not selfless enough to forgo what he desires most, not even for _that_.

"Come, _merit_, lie down with me." he says, taking Gamora from Peter's arms and helping her arrange herself on the bed. He lies down with her, half on top of her actually, and lets her kiss him and touch him however she likes, gentle, almost sleepy touches that soothe and inflame him at the same time.

The bed shifts beside them, and Ronan can feel Peter's presence at his back.  
"Don't turn. - Gamora whispers, placing her warm hand on his cheek - Look at me." she instructs.  
Ronan locks gazes with her and nods, feeling a first thrill of anticipation.

Something pops open with a crisp sound, and Ronan cannot help but whimper under his breath and spread his legs a bit further apart, waiting, yearning for what's to come.  
He'd swear Peter picked an oil vial with a cork stopper just because of the effect it would have on him.  
"Just look at me." Gamora repeats and he forces himself to obey, even if the temptation to turn and look at what's going on behind him is undeniable.

Cool, thick oil is poured onto the cleft of his buttocks, dripping down to his balls. Peter warm hands start rubbing it in, sliding from top to bottom, making him spread even more, making him raise his hips in a shameless display of need, teasing, promising pleasure beyond belief.  
Gamora presses her lips to his and when Peter's finger finally breaches him, she swallows his hoarse cry.

This time, Ronan knows better than to try and resist the intrusion. He lets go, lets Peter work his magic, slowly prying him loose, slowly bringing him to higher and higher peaks of rapture.  
A second finger joins the first, and Peter starts scissoring them, opening him up for more.

He loves to feel stretched by him.  
If he could have his way, he'd ask Peter to just take him like that, to fill him almost to breaking point with his cock with little or no preparation. It does hurt a bit, but it is worth it just to feel that hard, throbbing heat take him apart little by little, to feel Peter almost fight his way in. The few times they have done that, just feeling Peter slowly slide all the way in, just having him sheathed inside him to the hilt, had basically been enough for Ronan to soil himself.

Peter seems to enjoy taking it slow, however, seems to draw pleasure from his pleasure, and Ronan doesn't have it in his heart to begrudge him anything, especially not tonight.  
Peter crooks his fingers inside him in the most intimate caress, stroking him in a way that has stars exploding under his closed eyelids and whimpers pouring from his lips.

Gamora kisses him even more frantically, and rubs herself against him in a desperate search for friction. He can feel her wetness against his skin, the tension in her body and in her hands clenching on his shoulders. He lets his hand slide down her body, to her wet folds, and starts stroking her almost in time with Peter's strokes. Her moans mingle with his. There is no sweeter sound.

Concentrating on worshipping her takes him back from the sharp edge of his own yearning, allowing him to resist a bit more the bone-deep pleasure coursing through his veins, allowing his _meryw_ a bit more time before the inevitable final rush.

Peter slips another finger inside him and he takes it. There is no pain in him, only delight.  
They both know he can take more.

Once they made a game of it, trying to see just how much of it he could actually take, how long he could resist before giving in to pleasure.  
He remembers Peter slipping his entire fist inside him nearly to the wrist, stretching him impossibly, obscenely wide, remembers coming undone in a trembling, sobbing mess, full to bursting with him, and the memory is enough to make him feel a shadow of that mad rush of elation.

Gamora is panting and gasping below him, once more lost to pleasure.  
Her wetness gushes over his fingers as he stretches her in turn and he can think of nothing better than burying himself in her as deep as he can go.  
Between his two _meryw,_ he is getting closer and closer to the brink.

Another finger, and this time Peter has to work a bit for it, pushing and retreating and trying again until he is loose enough for it to slip in fully. Every other thought evaporates instantly from Ronan's mind. There is only that feeling, and it is almost too much already.

"Peter! - Ronan gasps - Sweet Pama, Peter, no more! Please! If you keep at this, I..."  
"Shh... - Peter soothes him, rubbing a hand on his lower back in lazy circles - Just a moment more. Hold on for me, bluebell. I know you can take it." he says and there is so much affection and trust in his voice...  
"Hold on for us, love." Gamora adds in a rough whisper, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes.  
Ronan nods and closes his eyes, trying to find some measure of control. He braces for whatever Peter has in mind, slipping his fingers off Gamora and holding on for dear life to the bedsheets.

Peter spreads his fingers inside him, slowly stretching him even wider, overcoming the residual resistance of his body. He bites back a scream of tormented pleasure. The effort to stave off his climax makes him shake and tremble, and arch hopelessly. He doesn't know how he can resist, but he has to.  
It is wonderful, but is not enough, it is not what he needs, he repeats to himself.

He is on the verge of saying the word, just to make it stop for a moment and buy himself a bit more time, when Peter finally stops.  
Ronan nearly collapses on top of Gamora, breathing as hard as if he had been running a marathon.  
He hears the oil vial being uncorked again, and makes to turn, but Gamora stops him again.  
"Don't. Stay with me, love..." she whispers, pressing wet fingers to his lips. He licks them obediently. She has been touching herself while Peter was taking him apart.  
"I couldn't help. You are so beautiful when you are like _that_." she says, almost shyly.  
"_Merit_! Oh, _merit_! - he gasps - I... I _need_ you."  
"I need you too. - she retorts - Please..." she adds, spreading her legs further apart.  
She doesn't have to ask twice. He lines himself up with her, and she takes him in her hand and guides him inside.  
She is drenched and wide open for him, and he is past the point of taking it slow. He slams himself in her to the hilt in one long, smooth push that has them both crying out in delight.  
Her legs wrap loosely around his waist and she arches, driving him even deeper, if it is possible.  
He withdraws almost completely, and slams himself into her again and again, slipping his fingers over her clit to push her further towards the brink. Her inner muscles are trembling around him, she is not far from it.

"Peter! - he calls out - Peter, please! We need you _now_!" he begs.  
A string of curses flows from the Terran's lips and his slick cock finally presses against his hole.  
"I... I lost track. I like watching you two. - he confesses - No holding back now, right?" he adds with a light push.  
"Don't even try." Ronan growls.  
Peter grabs his hips in an almost bruising grip and presses into him in a hard thrust. He is so loose from what they were doing before, that his cock slides almost all the way in one go, filling him, hot and throbbing and wonderful, and this time he does scream and Peter curses and tightens his hold on his hips even more.

Peter fucks him hard, in long, powerful thrusts, and Ronan does the same to Gamora, giving them both everything he has, and he knows that his scars are going to ache later, and that he is hardly going to be able to sit, come morning, but it hardly matters.  
All that matters is that Peter's thrusts hit _that_ spot, over and over again, taking his breath away, and that Gamora's core flutters around his cock as she gets closer and closer to rapture, and that they both hold him tight, trapping him between them.

Gamora is the first to tip over the edge, and the sound of her moans, and the enraptured expression on her face are almost painfully beautiful. Her muscles clench around him, squeezing him in a strong grip and that finally tips him over too and he spills himself in her with a hoarse cry, almost taken by surprise by the suddenness and the intensity of it.

"Oh, gods, guys... I fucking love you!" Peter exclaims as he falters.  
He thrusts inside him a handful of times still, sending spikes of sharp, breathtaking delight through Ronan's veins, and then he too lets go with one last, hard thrust and a triumphant roar.

They lay as they fall, exhausted, sated, and too boneless with pleasure to move.  
Peter is still draped against his back, Gamora is snuggled against his front, and Ronan just lays there, still pressed between them, breathing in their scent and soaking up their warmth.  
His thoughts are a whirlwind of ecstatic joy, soft wonder and melancholy.

This is too good, too terribly beautiful and blissful for him to be able to re-learn to live without it. He doesn't want to leave, not tomorrow, not ever. He doesn't want to lose this. He wants to live and die next to his _meryw_, with the family they found for themselves. Pama has blessed them with this small miracle, and as they slip softly into slumber, Ronan prays, asking her to bless them all once more, to allow them keep this beautiful thing at least for a while more.


	37. Chapter 37

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to diarmour, Priest of Pain, thefreakoutsideyourwindow and Ms. K29fan for their reviews. I am glad you appreciated the smut.

Ms. K29fan, there is not going to be kid-talk at least for a while, as there are a few world-endage issues to solve first, so i wouldn't hold my breath for that at least for a while, and even then, I'm not sure a "babies ever after" scenario is what I want for the ending. The conversation might not end the way you envision it.

Sorry again for the delay in posting, but I was at a conference in Madrid last week and my work laptop went bust, then I had some stuff to sort out, but now I am back in business and back to full health, so I should be a bit more regular in my updates, at least for a while.

Unfortunately, though I have still got quite a stash of written stuff on this fic, I haven't managed to write in a while, and on top of that I am starting a C# programming course that will eat up even more of my time (sigh). This doesn't mean that I will abandon SoW, but it might mean less frequent updates than the average week or so. I'll let you know when we get to that point and what the new schedule it's going to be, but we should be alright for another month or two.

So, now that the PSAs have been dealth with, let's get on with the chapter.

Warnings: angst, grief some language.

This is fairly short, but the next one is going to have more smut...

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

Something beeps.  
Gamora forces himself to ignore it, but it doesn't seem to want to go away.  
"What... what the hell is this?!" Peter mumbles sleepily.  
"It's a comm." Ronan replies, sounding fully awake. He is one of those people that can go from fully asleep to wide awake at the drop of a hat, a bit like her.  
"I think it is mine." Gamora says, shifting gently against him. She slips out of his hold as she leans towards the bedside table to grab it, but as soon as she has retrieved it, she snuggles back against him to check the message.  
In spite of their efforts, this might still be the last night they can spend together in a long, long while, and she doesn't want to miss a moment of it.

Fate seems to have a different opinion on the matter, however.  
"Hi, good-sister. We are having breakfast. Fancy some cake?" the message reads. It comes from Vesta's comm.  
Gamora sighs, caught between hopeful enthusiasm and dread, with a generous side helping of just wanting to be left in peace for a few hours more.  
"It's the girls. - she announces - They are done with the video."  
"What time is it?" Ronan asks.  
"It's six in the morning. - Gamora replies - Just in time for an early breakfast with some consolatory cake." she adds, setting the phone back on the bedside table.  
"And plenty of time for the video to go viral." Peter comments, suddenly awake and alert. He props himself up on an elbow and looks at her expectantly over Ronan's shoulder.  
"Hopefully. - Gamora acquiesces - I have to go and check on them." she adds with a small sigh.  
"Do you really?" Peter asks, taking hold of her wrist and making puppy eyes at her.  
"I wish I didn't, but I do. - Gamora replies - Those kids worked hard for us. The least we can do is to acknowledge them, and help them deal with what they have seen." she explains.  
"She is right, Peter. They have gone through a lot, tonight. - Ronan confirms - Do you want us to come with you?" he asks.  
Gamora hesitates just a moment before shaking her head.  
"The less you know about this, the less you'll have to lie later. And you're not good at it." she retorts, brushing her fingers on his cheek.  
"That's true." Ronan comments ruefully.  
"Hey, actually, I am great at it! There is no better liar than me in the whole Galactic Cluster!" Peter protests.  
"And you are also one of the most flamboyant people I have ever met. - Gamora retorts - This requires discretion, love."  
Peter looks like he is going to protest more, but eventually desists. He is not hoing to leave Ronan alone, and they all know that it would be best if Ronan was nowhere near the girls for a while.  
"As you wish." he finally acquiesces with a sigh.  
Gamora forces a smile on her lips.  
"I will be back before you know it." she promises, leaning over to kiss Peter and then Ronan.

She slips out of the bed and pads towards the bathroom. A quick shower to freshen up, some clothes, and she even manages to look reasonably awake and chipper.  
When she gets out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, the boys seem to be nearly asleep again, curled up into each other's arms in a tight ball of cuteness. Why would anyone want to leave them, even for a minute?  
"Rest now, my loves. - she says, pausing by the bed to ruffle Peter's hair and caress Ronan's head - You'll need your strength later." she adds.  
They murmur sleepily and reach out to hold her, but she sees it coming and manages to dodge with ease, standing again and backing towards the door. She can't let them drag her back into bed or she'll never get anywhere.  
With a sigh she slips out, into the empty corridors of the still-sleeping palace.

The girls have ensconced themselves in a terrace in the gardens. A table with fruit, cheese, bread and cake has been laid out before them and a spare chair is waiting for her.  
Gamora takes a seat. Andromake and Vesta seem exhausted, but at the same time fiercely satisfied.  
"Where are the others?" Gamora asks.  
"They left about half an hour ago. - Andromake replies - It's been a long eighteen hours. They needed to rest." she explains.  
"And you? How are you feeling?" Gamora asks.  
"Done in for, but as soon as we finish here, we are going to crash until midday." Vesta chimes in, yawning so hard that it looks like her jaw is going to fall off.  
"I imagined. - Gamora comments - But I mean, how do you feel about what you've seen? Do you want to talk about it?" she asks.  
The two girls share a quick glance.  
"Let's just say that we are glad Helenai and Gladiator managed to stop the war before it came to the stuff we saw in there." Andromake replies with a slight shudder.

"The video has already a few tens of thousands of likes. It's spreading fast. - Vesta adds - Let's hope those fascists start feeling the pressure." she adds.  
"Tens of thousands of likes?! - Gamora exclaims in astonishment - How long ago have you posted it?" she asks.  
Vesta shrugs her thin shoulders. "About an hour ago. Lukan and his team have a vast network of friends. They are helping us spread it." she explains as if for her distributing incriminating evidence to influence a foreign government is a commonplace pastime. She will have a future in intelligence.

"I hope those bastards get lynched by a mob." Andromake growls. She grabs a piece of cake and bites it as if it has personally offended her.  
"Sons of a bitch..." she mutters with her mouth half-full.  
Gamora lays a hand on her arm. "It was bad." she says without needing to ask.  
"It was worse." Andromake replies She looks down at the tablecloth, pretending to be interested in its patterns, but a tear drops, leaving a wet stain on the fabric, and gives her the lie.  
Vesta wraps her arms around Andromake's shoulders and gives her a quick hug.  
"I'm alright!" Andromake protests, but doesn't try to push her friend away.  
"No, we are not. But we will be, in time. - Vesta objects - I don't regret doing this. It needed to be done." she adds.  
"Damn sure it did! - Andromake agrees vehemntly, thumping a fist on the table - Your boyfriend and Dey did most of the work, but I am glad I had a hand in exposing those bastards. I feel like I have done something important, something that really matters." she confesses.

"You did. - Gamora reassures her - And we are grateful to you two for all you have done."  
"And we are grateful that you have us this chance, that you have trusted us with this. - Vesta retorts - We know how important all of this is to you guys." she adds.  
Gamora feels her heart clench a bit at the thought of just how much hinges on the effect of this video, but she puts on a brave face and smiles.  
"You are family." she says with a small shrug.  
The two girls smile back at her.

"Speaking of this, there is something we want to show you." Vesta declares, pushing a data chip towards her.  
"I don't think it would be a good idea for me to watch the video now." Gamora objects, laying a hand on hers and pushing it back.  
"Of course not. - Vesta agrees - You need to be as surprised and shocked as anyone else." she explains.  
"And trust me, you will be." Andromake adds, nodding gravely.  
"Yes, you will. Make and Siobhan have done a great job with that. - Vesta confirms - But this is... well, related, but it isn't in the video. We thought you might want to see it, though." she offers, pushing the chip back towards her.

Gamora hesitates a moment, then takes the chip and pops it in her comm.  
There is only one file in it, a picture. She opens it.  
From the screen, a family of four, a couple and their two sons, grins at her. They are Kree, with the bright blue skin of high nobility, and dressed formally for some solemnity.  
Their pose and expression has nothing solemn, though.

The woman is very pretty. Her dark hair is done in a complicated up-do and her dress is well-tailored, but her smile has nothing artificial. Her blue eyes sparkle with joy. She holds her youngest son in her arms, and the little boy, maybe three or four years old and cute as a button, is frozen forever with laughter on his face.

Her husband stands at her side, tall and strong and handsome, with the same striking blue eyes as his wife, and disturbingly familiar, high, sharp cheekbones. He looks like a warrior and his uniform identifies him as a relatively high-ranking officer. He has wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, pressing them side to side down the length of their bodies, while his other hand, a prosthetic by the looks of it, is ruffling his eldest son's unruly black hair.

The kid can't be older than six or perhaps seven. He is tall for his age, and wears a uniform a bit like that of his father. A kid-sized sword hangs from his left hip, signalling him as a cadet. Standing straight in front of his parents, he is clearly the center of the composition, and he is grinning in pure happiness, as if he had just received the best present ever.  
"First day of Academy!" the caption reads.

Even though the picture must be at least twenty-five years old, Gamora cannot fail to recognise the face of the man she loves hidden in that of the child he was.  
His features are rounder and softer with youth, but they are the same, and the deep, intense gaze has not changed either.  
That smile, the carefree, eager smile of a child that knows no pain and no sadness, and thinks that the future will always be like a big, fantastic adventure, is gone though, erased forever.

For a long time, when she first met him, Gamora had thought that Ronan did not know how to smile. His face was either blank, or frozen in a solemn frown. His lips did curl in a sort of a smile at times when he fought, but it was a cruel, almost painful thing, more the angry baring of teeth of a beast, than the expression of joy of a sentient.  
Ronan does smile now, he smiles often, even, and his whole face lights up with it, making him look even more handsome, but there is always some trace of melancholy in his smiles.  
Some things heal, but leave permanent scars, she thinks, tracing a finger along the features of the child in the picture. Her eyes fill with tears.

"Where did you find this?" she asks, hating how her voice catches mid-sentence.  
"It was in the hard disk. - Vesta replies quietly - Your boyfriend... he kept files for victims, survivors and witnesses. There were statements, pictures, investigation reports, medical records. Everything. This was in one of them, just like that. There were no special markings, as if it was just a piece of the puzzle." she adds, looking sad.

That is so very like him, Gamora thinks. She knows he loved his family, that he still mourns them, in a way, but in the eyes of the law they were no more special or significant than any other victim, so no matter what he felt in private, in his work they were just three victims among many and he just a survivor.

"We thought you would... I mean... - Andromake says, pausing to find the words - I am sure the Nova haven't let him keep anything of his stuff. And, well, I know it might be painful, but I think he should have this. I still have my mum's picture, though she died when I was little. I don't want to remember just that I have lost her. I want to remember her like she used to be." she explains awkwardly, twisting the napkin into a tormented corkscrew.

Gamora hugs her tight, and Vesta jumps in and hugs them both as tight as she can, and they all start crying together.  
"Thank you, good-sisters. - Gamora manages to sob - Thank you so very much for everything you've done."  
"You are family. - Andromake retorts, sniffling and trying to wipe her eyes with the napkin - Gods, we need to get a grip, otherwise everyone will realise we've been crying!" she adds, forcing cheerfulness.  
"It's alright to cry. - Gamora says, trying to wipe her face in turn - It helps sometimes."  
"It does." Vesta agrees.  
She takes a deep breath, and then another.  
"It's like cauterising a wound. It hurts, but it helps it to heal. - she says, with that distant, faraway gaze she gets when her power kindles in her - We are holding the coal to the torn flesh of the Galaxy. There will be pain, but also deliverance." she announces, turning towards Gamora.

The assassin shivers, caught by a dreadful sense of foreboding.  
She has not prayed in years, ever since her mother and fathers were killed in front of her eyes, but now in her mind, she calls upon the half-forgotten gods of her people, hoping that they can protect her family from more loss.


	38. Chapter 38

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to diarmour, thefreakoutsideyourwindow and importchic for their reviews.

Thefreakoutsideyourwindow: I'll check out the song. Thanks for the suggestion.

Warnings:M/M smut and some angst/grief.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

It has not yet been three weeks since he was allowed in his _meryw_'s bed, but Ronan already knows the sound of Peter's breath when he slumbers. He has learned the rythm of his heart, so fast compared to his own, but slower compared to the frantic tattoo of his waking hours, and has grown accustomed to feel his body relax against his own.  
Even though Peter lies still and quiet in bed next to him, those little, unobstrusive signs betray him. He is still wide awake.  
Ronan cannot really blame him.  
Even though he feels still weary and sore, he cannot really go back to sleep either. He has slept enough, and peacefully. These might be the last hours he has with his _meryw_, and he doesn't want to waste them by sleeping some more.

"I know you are awake." he whispers, threading his fingers through Peter's hair.  
The Terran's blue eyes open and a wistful little smile appears on his face.  
"Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you." Peter apologises,  
"I couldn't sleep either." Ronan confesses. He traces Peter's handsome features with the barest tip of his fingers, closing his eyes to better savour the feeling. He is going to miss this.  
"You are thinking about it." Peter chides gently, placing his warm, warm hand on his cheek.  
"I can't help it." Ronan admits with a sigh.  
"Me neither. - Peter confesses quietly - I am scared. I don't want to lose you."  
"You won't. - Ronan retorts, reopening his eyes and holding Peter's gaze with his own - Even though we might be forced to be apart, I will always be yours. I promised you forever, and though it has no legal value, for me it is no less binding. I will stay true to you two, whatever happens." he declares.  
"I know, and I feel the same way about it, but... I need you here with me. And Gamora does too. - Peter protests - And I don't mean just because of _this_." he adds, gesturing widely to the messy bed where they are lying entwined.  
"I mean because of the weird music you listen to when you cook dinner. I mean because of the creepy conversations you have with Rocket and Drax about weapons. I mean because of when we find you curled up in a corner with a book or my comics... I mean for everything." he explains, and his eyes start to fill up with tears.  
"You are so much part of our lives, that... I don't know... It would be so strange, so wrong for you not to be there anymore." he sobs and Ronan pulls him tighter against his chest, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from crying too.

"What will be, will be, Peter. We did what we could to turn things our way, but it is out of our control now. - he whispers, kissing the top of his head - But I am here, now. We are together. Let's not waste these moments by worrying about the future." he continues, almost pleading.  
Peter nods as best as he can, snuggling even closer to him.  
"I didn't use to think about anything farther away than five minutes in the future, I swear. - Peter mumbles - It must be your influence. You're too responsible for your own good." he jokes. It feels a bit forced but it's a start.  
"What would I do without you teaching me how to have fun?" Ronan teases, hoping to lift his mood even further.  
Peter seems to take the bait. He lifts his head and flashes him a crooked smile.  
"You'd be bored, bluebell. - he replies quietly - Constantly, awfully bored. And melancholy. And so, so frustrated..." he adds, whispering the last few words in his ear.  
His hands slide slowly down Ronan's body, and all of a sudden he finds himself hardening again. He tries to be silent and impassive, but his breath hitches in anticipation. He is caught.

Peter's eyes light up with a mischievious glint. He relishes the effect that his words and his touch have on him. His fingers glide tantalisingly over the bandages, lower and lower, and stop just short of where Ronan wants them.  
He lets out a quiet growl of frustration.  
"Yes, a bit like this..." Peter chuckles, setting his warm, rough hands on his hips and kneading lightly. His fingers trace his hipbones, then slide to his groin and then lower, teasing his inner tighs, not quite there, but almost. Ronan rolls to his back and spreads his legs for him, but Peter doesn't catch the totally unsubtle hint.  
His fingers keep on teasing, but move no further.  
"Not so easy today, bluebell..." he whispers, dipping his head to kiss him. Ronan responds eagerly to that kiss, unable to repress a shiver of anticipation. Whatever Peter might have in mind, it will probably feel wonderful.

"You like it when I touch you there, don't you?" Peter asks, sliding his fingers ever closer.  
Ronan nods frantically. Peter's eyes have gone wide and dark with lust and his gaze pins him to the bed more certainly than any restraint.  
"You like it when I spread you open with my fingers. - he continues, gently brushing the lower curve of his buttocks - You love it when I slide my cock inside you, all the way in, when I thrust into you, when I push you off the brink... You whimper for me... you come for me..." he whispers, and finally brushes his fingers against his entrance.  
Ronan has to bite his lip to repress a mewling cry.  
All it took were his words and the barest touch, and he is already panting, his cock is twitching, fully hard and aching. The slightest caress is what it takes for him to cry out and try to arch into Peter's touch, but his hands withdraw, leaving him desperate for more.  
"Oh, _mery_! - he gasps - I love what you do. I am yours. Ask me whatever you want..." he pleads.

"I want you to take me, this time. - Peter growls - I want to feel you inside of me." he adds.  
"Oh, Pama..." Ronan gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head on the pillow.  
He had never considered it, but now that the possibility is out there in the open... part of him likes the idea of going along with Peter's request. To take him apart slowly and gently, to fill him with as much pleasure as he can take, to worship him with his body like he does to Gamora... It would be heavenly.

Part of him is worried, though. Peter is fragile compared to him and Gamora, so much more breakable, and the last thing he wants he wants is to hurt him.

"I want to be so full of you that I cannot think of anything else." Peter continues, low and sultry.  
It is more than Ronan can take. He silences him with a kiss and rolls them over, so that Peter is pressed against the mattress, trapped under him.  
He takes his wrists and holds him down, letting him feel a bit of his strength, but his _meri_ doesn't seem intimidated by it. He squirms in pleasure instead, and somehow manages to wrap his legs around Ronan's waist, almost lining himself up for the taking.

Ronan can imagine himself sinking in that pliant, vulnerable body, moving within it until Peter is trembling in pleasure, until he loses himself in it. He wants it with an intensity that scares him, but he cannot get past the thought that if he slips up, if his control wavers even for a moment, he could hurt him, and hurt him badly.  
This is something he can't accept.

"I can't. - he rasps - I can't do this, Peter."  
"Why?" Peter asks. He thrusts his hips against Ronan's, rubbing himself against him shamelessly.  
"Don't you want this?" he asks.  
Ronan hisses in pleasure at the delicious friction.  
"I do... I want it badly. - he confesses with a light thrust of his own - Too badly. It is not safe." he adds.  
"It's going to be alright." Peter reassures him.  
"No, it's not. - Ronan insists - I want to watch you fall apart for me... I want you to let go of all control and take as much pleasure as I can give to you..." he whispers, and Peter groans and arches and it gets harder and harder to remember what he was going to say.  
"But what if it is too much, too beautiful for me to bear? What if I lose control too, and forget to mind my strength with you? - he continues between gritted teeth - What if I hurt you, _meri_? I can't face it... I can't..." he whispers, pressing a small, chaste kiss at the corner of Peter's lips and freeing his hands.

"I know you don't want to hurt me. - Peter says gently - And I know how much stronger than me you are... Do you think I don't?" he asks, running his hands lovingly on his arms and shoulders.  
"I know and I love it. - he adds, letting his hands slide to his back - And I know that despite it, you've never hurt me, not even when we sparred. I feel safe with you. I trust you. I know you won't hurt me." Peter declares, and there is so much raw, naked trust in his gaze that Ronan has to look away. He doesn't deserve it in these circumnstances.  
"This is different, Peter. I... - he starts to say, but cannot find the words - You cannot know that I won't." Ronan retorts, a hint of a growl in his voice.

"I do. Because I won't let you. - Peter insists, self-assured as usual - You don't need to worry about losing control, because you _won't_ be in control of this." he declares huskily.  
He twists his hips and throws his weight to the side, and suddenly Ronan finds himself back on the bed.

Peter is straddling his hips and grins victoriously at his surprise.  
"I will be." he announces.  
His hand wraps around Ronan's cock and he gives it a hard, firm squeeze.  
"I will set the pace. I will call the shots." continues in a firm, gentle tone that, combined with his unrelenting grip, has Ronan writhing on the bed in helpless abandon.  
"We'll be safe. Both of us. - Peter adds more softly, releasing some of the pressure on his manhood - I can enjoy your strength, and you can enjoy me yielding to it. We can both let go." he promises.  
His smile is soft and his lips are soft when he dips his head to kiss him, but Ronan feels his desire burn ever brighter for that, and when they break the kiss, he is panting and straining. His worry, his fear... they are gone, leaving only raw, sharp need, and he feels nearly mad with it.

"Do you trust me?" Peter asks, looking down at Ronan with a soft, loving gaze.  
"Yes. Always." Ronan promises.  
"Do you want this?" Peter insists, gripping him again.  
"Oh! _Meri!_ I do! I do... - Ronan gasps - I _need_ this..."  
"That makes two of us. - Peter comments huskily - Gods, you're so beautiful... and so big..." he comments, running his fingers appreciatively up and down his cock.  
Ronan twitches in his hands and feels himself blushing furiously at his words.

Before he can reply in any way, however, Peter has flipped them in bed again, and he is nestled once more between Peter's spread, creamy tighs. He lets his hands slide down his legs and grabs hold of his firm, muscular ass, kneading with enough force to let him feel it, but not enough to bruise.  
Peter whimpers and nods, his eyes unfocused. A dark pink blush is spreading on his face and chest. He is beautiful.  
"What do you want me to do?" Ronan asks hoarsely.  
Peter turns his head towards the bedside table. The vial of oil is still there, still half-full.  
Ronan meets his gaze and leans out towards it, hovering close to it without quite taking it.  
"Touch me... Make me ready for you..." Peter instructs.

He does.  
He takes his time, and patiently spreads him up with oiled, careful fingers, slowly and gently, savouring every breathless moan, every eager jerk of his hips, every blush, every twitch of his hard, flushed cock.  
Peter asks for more, and he gives it to him, slipping another finger inside his tight, hot hole, and then one more, twisting and scissoring, gradually stretching him, until he is slick and loose and almost gaping, until his eyes are screwed shut and his lips are red and swollen from how he has been biting them, until they are both trembling in need and nearly out of control.  
"I need to be inside you... please..." Ronan begs. He has barely been touched, and he feels already close and desperate.  
"Yes! Yes! Do it!" Peter cries out, clawing his shoulders in his frantic eagerness.

Ronan silences him with a quick kiss, then picks up the vial again, and pours more oil on his hand.  
He makes a show of letting it drip over his cock and spreads it all over its length in slow, languorous pulls.  
It takes nearly almost all his remaining control to stay silent and calm, to let him watch at leisure, but it's definitely worth the effort just to see Peter's expression shift from breathless bliss to hunger, to have his _meri_ surge from the bed and pounce on him, kissing him hard and demanding as he presses him to the mattress.

Peter takes him in hand and lines himself up, slowly, torturously sinking over him.  
His expression is torn between bliss and torment as he is breached, and a breathless gasp erupts from his lips when the head is finally sheathed inside him.  
Ronan places his hands on his hips, steadying him, supporting him, helping him prolong the beautiful torment that has both of them in its grip.

How easy it would be to pull him down as he thrusts his hips upwards, to sink inside him in one single, glorious push, to see Peter strain to take it all at once, too full to do anything but tremble...  
He is tempted, but fights the temptation away. It is not his call to make.  
Maybe next time, if there is a next time...

For now, his _meri_ seems happy to take his time, sinking over him inch by inch, until, finally, he is sheathed inside him as deep as he would go.  
Peter stops, trying to adjust. His breath comes in gasps and pants, his brow is covered in a sheen of sweat, his inner muscles tremble and flutter.  
Ronan arches into him and lets out a low moan.  
Peter's body temperature is at least three or four degrees higher than his own, it's a Terran thing. He always feels warm to him, but now he feels burning hot, almost too much, and tight, almost impossibly so, like a vice grip wrapped around his manhood, and it feels amazing, beyond words, beyond comparison.

"Gods, bluebell... You feel so fucking good..." Peter moans, throwing his head back.  
Ronan curses under his breath and tightens his grip on Peter's hips.  
"Move for me, _meri_. Please... Move!" he pleads.  
Peter nods. He bites his lips in concentration and starts rolling his hips, rising and sinking over his length. It is slow and uncertain at first, but as he adjusts to the stretch and the pressure, as he discovers exactly how he likes it, his movements become faster and sharper, more assured.  
He grabs hold of the headboard for leverage and soon he is fucking himself on Ronan's cock as hard and fast as he can, crying out in pleasure at each pounding stroke.  
Ronan helps him, guiding him with his hands on his hips, thrusting into him as much as the position allows. He feels his own pleasure mounting up, he feels Peter start to falter.  
He tries to slide his hand to his neglected cock, but Peter's hand clenches over his wrist and drags it back to his hip.  
"No! - Peter gasps, shaking his head - I'm close! Wait! Just wait, for the sake of the gods!" he half orders, half pleads.

Ronan's mouth falls open in astonishment.  
"Do you think you can...? - he gasps - Just from having me inside you...?" he adds, trying to wrap his head around the concept.  
"Yes! Gods, yes! - Peter cries out, clawing at the headboard in the attempt to keep moving - I am... I am nearly there... Wait for me, bluebell. Can you?" he gasps, looking down at him with desperate eyes.  
Those words, that look... they do things to him, pushing him closer to the brink, but he nods, fighting to stay focused.  
"I can." he promises between gritted teeth.

His hands slip from his hips to his backside, and he is bodily lifting Peter and lowering him back down again to meet his hard thrusts, while Peter holds on to the headboard for dear life and yields to him. He is doing most if not all of the job now, but it's worth it.  
Peter's lovely face is slack in extasy, his eyes closed, his head thrown back. His body arches gracefully, taut like a coiled spring, and his cock twitches helplessly, harder and harder, and the grip of his body on him tightens and tightens...  
And suddenly Peter cries out, a hoarse, wordless roar, and comes in long, convulsive spurts. His inner muscles squeeze his cock in time with them, over and over, and he is left breathless by the beauty of his surrender...

He manages maybe one or two thrusts more before he too lets go, sheathing himself ball-deep into that wonderful, pliant body and filling him with his own release, and it is so powerful that for a moment he can hardly breathe.  
He can only hold his _meri_ close, and shake silently, helplessly.  
Words cannot describe the fierce, heart-wrenching joy of that moment.

Fucked out.  
It is a rather crude term, but Peter finds it describes exactly how he is feeling in that moment.  
He dimly notices that his position, sprawled on top of Ronan and still joined with him, is not the most comfortable in the world, his hips and knees are starting to ache, and his front is wet and sticky, but he is still too boneless with pleasure to summon the will to move.  
His body aches with a good sort of ache, and Ronan is warmer than his usual beneath him, solid and reassuring, relaxed in something that is not quite sleep, but it is close enough. It makes him feel safe and cherished.

Ronan threads his fingers into his hair, petting it gently.  
Peter leans into his touch, nearly purring in delight. He loves his careful, gentle side as much as he loves the strength and savage focus he shows when he kicks ass left right and center on a battlefield.  
He loves even that ferocious not-smile that he has when he is fighting, even though it used to scare the shit out of him.  
It would be hard for him to think of something he does not love about him.

"I love you too, Peter Jason Quill..." Ronan whispers, placing a soft kiss on his brow, and only then Peter realises that he has been talking out loud.  
With some effort, Peter raises himself on his arms to look at him. He feels floppy and clumsy, and totally un-sexy, but Ronan still looks at him as if he was everything good in the world. Things like these are worth living for.

He dips his head to kiss that smiling mouth, but the movement must put pressure on some of Ronan's scars and he lets out a small hiss of pain.  
Peter freezes immediately, worried about moving either way before he hurts him more.  
"I'm sorry, bluebell... I'm so sorry..." he says, cringing.  
"It's alright, _meri_. - he reassures - You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just a bit sore."  
"Do you want me to get off?" Peter asks.  
Ronan actually hesitates a moment before nodding.  
"I am afraid it is necessary." he admits ruefully.  
Peter smiles at him and complies, gingerly shifting his weigth to his legs and then slipping off his mostly soft cock. It's odd how good even this feels. He actually has to bite back a groan as the head slips off him with a faint pop.

Peter lets himself fall on the bed next to Ronan, breathing heavily once more.  
He feels tender and swollen, and a deep-seated ache pulsates inside him. It's not quite pain, he doesn't think so, but if it is, it's a good kind of pain.

"Does it always feel like this, afterwards? - he asks, turning towards Ronan - Like you're all quivering inside?" he adds.  
"To me, it does. - Ronan confesses - Haven't you ever felt like this... afterwards?" he asks, brushing Peter's hair away from his forehead. His expression is slightly concerned, but there is some pride in it. He must like the idea of being a better lay than the guys he has had before.  
Peter is sure he will like the truth even more.  
"I have never been with a guy like I have been with you today." he reveals.

Predictably, Ronan's face goes almost blank in confusion and perplexity.  
"You popped my cherry." Peter clarifies cheerfully.  
Ronan flushes dark blue and his eyes go wide and dark in surprise. It takes him a couple of tries before he actually manages to formulate the questions Peter can almost see in his eyes into words.  
"Really? There has really never been anyone else? - he manages to stammer, sounding incredulous, but also proud and pleased - You have... I mean... I wasn't your first male partner... right?" he adds, blushing and looking away. His arms tighten possessively around him though. Peter doesn't mind at all.

"Rocket and Drax... they say you were very... active... and experimental..." Ronan objects, growing even more indigo blue in embarrassment.  
"The way they say it must be more like I screwed my way across the Cluster... - Peter corrects with a wry little laugh - And it is true. I have been with girls, guys, cis, trans, non-binaries, and even with people whose species have a totally different system of sexes. Sometimes I didn't even know _where_ to stick it..." he narrates. That brings an embarrassed grimace to Ronan's face, and Peter leans into him to kiss it away.

"So yes, I have been with guys before, but they never asked _that_ of me, and I never offered. I was a top, I topped. Following a role is much easier." he explains.  
"I never really felt safe to let go of control. It never felt right to try, not like it does with you. - he confesses - But then again, I never liked any guy as much as I like you, same as I never liked any girl as I like Gamora." he reveals, and his heart does a little weird flip of joy when Ronan's expression turns from confusion to contentedness.

"To be honest, I don't think I have ever really loved anyone before you two came along." he confesses after a moment, very, very quiet.  
"Before, it was just sex. Just something physical. It didn't really mean anything to me. - Peter continues, looking into his boyfriend's blue, blue eyes - I did it for fun, because it does feel good, but there was hardly any emotion in it. I didn't care about the people I did those things with. In the best cases, we both used each other and parted ways..."  
He pauses. He had never given much thought to his previous partners, but now he feels bad about how he has acted with some of them, about how self-centered and frivolous he was. Not everyone was good at no-strings-attached.

"But I am afraid I behaved like a selfish asshole with many of them." he confesses ruefully.  
"You, selfish? - Ronan asks, looking mildly bemused - The same man who put himself between a terrorist and the people who had injustly imprisoned him? The same man who took pity on a vanquished enemy and saved him? I find it hard to believe." he declares quietly.

"I wasn't the same person before that adventure. - Peter objects - After... after my mum, I couldn't bring myself to care. People would leave, or die. I didn't want more pain, so I didn't commit to anyone. I took, but I hardly gave anything back. It was easier." he confesses, feeling a bit teary. He doesn't know how they got here, to talking about his mum and his problems. This is not how he wanted the morning to go.  
"I was broken, and too afraid to fix myself. - he continues nonetheless - I guess the whole Power Gem gig forced me to review my priorities. Being scared shitless and nearly dying a few times in a row does that to a person, I suppose..." he adds with a tentative smile.

"You are a brave man, _meri_. One of the bravest I've ever met." Ronan whispers, shutting him up with a slow, languorous kiss.  
"Not crazy?" Peter manages to gasp between kisses.  
"That too. - Ronan concedes, ruffling his hair - And whatever you might think about it, you have a big, warm heart. I am honoured that you have allowed me a place in it." he adds, placing his hand tenderly on his chest.  
"I couldn't help it, bluebell. - Peter whispers placing his own hand over his - You fit perfectly in it. It would have felt empty without you." he adds, and even though he knows how cheesy it must sound, it feels right to say it, because that's how he feels.

Ronan makes a small, happy sound and presses them closer, front to front as they lie on their sides. Peter shifts even closer, trying to fold into his embrace and plaster himself all over him.  
"We made a mess of your bandages..." he comments, shuddering lightly at the cold wetness of them against his skin.  
"Don't fret. They needed changing anyway." Ronan replies calmly.  
Peter nods and nuzzles into his neck, mindful of the collar. He smells good.  
Big, cool hands trace paths along his back and sides, unhurriedly, almost sleepily. There is nothing more relaxing in the whole Universe and in spite of all the things he wanted to say to Ronan, in spite of the fact that the time they have left is running out, Peter finds himself drifting off.  
It feels too good to resist.

Peter cannot tell if he has fallen asleep or not, or how long they have been like that. It feels forever, and just the briefest moment. Does time even matter when everything feels so perfect?  
Warm hands are caressing his hair and face, strong and slightly calloused, but too warm and too small to be Ronan's.  
Peter purrs into that touch and lazily opens an eye, twisting a little to look over his shoulder.  
"Morning, love..." Gamora whispers. There is a loving smile on her face, but her eyes look like she has been crying.  
Peter jolts into immediate wakefulness.

"Is everything alright, _merit_?" Ronan whispers. He must have woken before him, he always does. They can fall asleep anywhere in a matter of minutes and be awake instantly at the smallest noise or shift, both him and Gamora. It's military conditioning at its best, Peter thinks a bit ruefully. It's how they are, and even though it is rather annoying at times, he loves them even for that.

"It is. It was a bit emotional, but it was to be expected. - Gamora replies quietly - But we're good. And it's all working well and spreading fast. The people from the Anti-War Network are doing a great job of it."  
Ronan lets out a sigh of relief.  
"Let's hope it is enough." he says.  
"It will be. - Gamora retorts, leaning over Peter to brush his cheek in a caress - The dead will have justice. The Council will hold. You will stay with us. We have to believe in this." she adds. There is a hint of wetness to her eyes, and a bit of desperation to her voice.  
"I believe in it." Ronan says, without hesitation.  
"Yeah, me too." Peter chimes in, a bit less adamant in his conviction.

He pulls her down to the bed and nudges her to wedge between him and Ronan. Gamora doesn' even put up a token protest. She takes off her top, throws it out of the bed and snuggles in between them.  
"No blankets, otherwise we'll fall asleep again, and it's nearly time for breakfast." she declares.  
No one objects. They are comfortable enough like that.  
They stay there, holding each other as close as possible, and nearly manage to doze off again.


	39. Chapter 39

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to diarmour, thefreakoutsideyourwindow and for their reviews. I'm still feeling all warm and fuzzy inside about the compliments

This chapter is really long and is also the end of this arc. There is another completed arc waiting to be posted, plus at least two more that need to be written before we can sat "the end".

It's going to be a bumpy ride, so watch out, but don't worry too much, I like GRR Martin, but not so much. I like Victor Hugo better.

Warnings: angst, grief, politics, high-level diplomacy, some language, mentions of war crimes.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

In the end, it's a bit of a miracle that they manage to get some breakfast and get ready in time.  
Outside of the door, the rest of their crazy, messy family is waiting to walk with them to the Hall of the Council: Drax, Groot and Rocket, Loki and Nebula, Helenai and Gladiator. The whole lot of them.  
Peter feels himself smiling and as he glances at Ronan, he notices an identical smile on his face.

Behind them, the security detail appears in the corridor.  
It's a quartet of Kree Accusers in dark blue dress uniforms, armed as usual with big-ass maces and hammers. Their stern, young faces are streaked with paint in a pattern that looks remarkably like Ronan's old warpaint, but white instead of blood-coloured.  
"What the hell does this all mean?" Peter asks himself.

"What are you doing here, lads? - Ronan asks, frowning in perplexity - I thought the Skrull Raiders were supposed to be on guard duty, today." he adds, with his trademark confused expression.  
"They were." Shanleigh confirms, stepping closer. The Guardians part to let her through and she stops in front of Ronan, while the other three Accusers trail behind her.  
"We asked them to allow us the honour of escorting you. They were gracious enough to grant us this boon. - she adds with obvious satisfaction - Will you allow us to stand by your side today, commander?" she asks, going down on a knee before him.

Ronan steps back, looking slightly afraid.  
"Stand up, Accusers! Don't kneel before me! - he orders - I am no longer your commander, just a _haaq_. I brought dishonour on you all." he adds, looking first at them and then at the Guardians with a lost, confused look.  
"Yes, you did. Even if your intentions were honourable, you brought shame on the Kree. - Shanleigh replies, without mincing words - But you redeemed yourself. You did penance, and fought _isfet_. You upheld _Ma'at,_ and led us to victory at the Temple, like in the days of old. And yesterday, with your words you made us all proud. You brought great honour on yourself and on the Kree. For this we pay you homage." she explains.

Ronan blinks slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but it looks like he can't find the words to express all the emotions that blend in his expression.

"Please, sir. Don't send us away. Let us do this for you. - Morthwyl, the youngest one, adds, all but kowtowing on the floor - You guided us through tough times, you were our rock, our strength. We took all of it for granted, we never realised that you needed us too. We let you fall when we could have shored you up. We failed you." he says, looking down in shame.

"It is not your fault..." Ronan manages to rasp, without even shedding a tear. It's a tough call.  
Peter's sight is blurred by tears, and Gamora is squeezing his hand like crazy in the attempt to control herself.  
"No, it is not. But that doesn't mean we don't regret it. - a darker-skinned guy called Euan insists - Let us make amends. Let us stand by you. Let us help, this time." he pleads.

Ronan shakes his head, tears trailing along his scars.  
"I am no longer your commander. You can't stand by me as my underlings, or behind me like a honour guard." he insists, his voice a bit shaky but clear.  
The Accusers' faces fall in dismay, and Peter finds himself wanting to tell Ronan to stop hurting himself and them, to stop being such an intransigent asshole. The words rise to his lips, but before he can pronounce them, Ronan speaks again.  
"But we can stand together. Like equals, like comrades in arms." he declares.  
He holds a hand out towards Shanleigh, and she takes it with no hesitation, letting him help her to her feet.

"I like your way better too. It would have been awkward to still treat you as my superior." she retorts with a grin.  
"You are the new Supreme Accuser, aren't you?" Ronan asks, grinning back at her.  
"I was the most senior Accuser left. And I learned from a worthy teacher." she confirms with a nod.

"How old are you?" Helenai asks. Shanleigh doesn't look very senior at all.  
"Same age as him. - the Kree woman replies, nodding towards Ronan - But not all of us start our careers at fifteen." she adds.  
"There are not many of us left. The Nova had the habit of concentrating fire on us during the war." the fourth guy explains. He is youngish, not much older than Morthwyl, who is still in his late teens, and paler than the rest. Peter cannot remember his name.

"That doesn't detract from your success. You deserve this position because you are good at this. - Ronan comments - And now you are the first woman in office since..."  
"Since before the Ancients started monopolising the Ruling Council. - Shanleigh concludes for him - I am almost glad the Nova made us shut them down." she adds with a grimace.  
According to what Ronan told him about Kree society, that is positively subversive, especially coming from the Supreme Accuser.

"Now we can make our own decisions, and find _Ma'at_ for ourselves. - she continues - Oh, and by the way, we have reinstated you. Your name is back on the rolls." she reveals.  
"Wow! - Peter exclaims, clapping a hand over Ronan's back - This is amazing, isn't it?" he adds, discreetly elbowing him to snap him out of another moment of astonished blankness.

"Why?" Gamora asks instead. Her voice is tense with anger. She must remember how badly Ronan had been struck by the discovery that he had been deleted from them in the first place.  
"Because one cannot learn from history, if it is edited to please the people in charge at any given moment. - Euan jumps in - This has changed us. The Kree Empire will never be the same again. I'm not saying it is a bad thing, but it's undeniable. The future generations deserve to know how it came to be." he argues.  
"You deserve to be remembered, comrade." Morthwyl butts in, laying a hand on Ronan's arm.

"So then why did you delete him in the first place? - Rocket asks, scratching an ear in puzzlement - You can't go around deleting and rewriting people from existence! This doesn't make any sense!" he protests.  
"It was not our decision." Shanleigh retorts with a sigh.  
"It was Fiyero." Ronan intervenes with certainty.  
"The very same. - Euan confirms - It was another present he gave the Nova after he was made Head of the Ruling Council, to show them how good friends we were to them." he adds wryly.  
"It did ease things up a lot. - the fourth guy intervenes - And as concessions go, it was painful, but not as harmful to our society as a whole as some of the things Dahun and his clique were trying to obtain. He was trapped in a bad situation, but at least he tried to spare us all from the worst, over and over." he adds, almost apologetic.

"You're right, Aodhfin, and that's why we sent him to jail on Xandar, instead of caving his head in, when we found him pocketing Xandarian money. - Shanleigh confirms - He did what he had to do, and now that we're even better friends with the Nova, we were finally able to do what is the right thing to do." she concludes.  
"You have my most sincere gratitude, comrades. - Ronan finally replies - Whatever is my fate today, your words and your support mean much to me." he adds, dipping his head in a sketchy bow.  
"I'd be surprised if Dahun's people had it their way, and I'm sure you and the Guardians can imagine why." Shanleigh retorts.  
Ronan goes all blank again, and for a moment Peter fears that his unreasonable honesty will get the better if him and he'll confess everything, but he manages to get a grip on it, instead, and gives his successor and her men a totally confused look.  
"What are you talking about?" he asks.  
"You don't know?!" Morthwyl exclaims.  
Ronan manages to keep looking confused and perplexed.  
"What is it that I am supposed to know? - he retorts - Do you know?" he asks, turning towards the rest of the Guardians.  
Peter shakes his head. "Not a clue, bluebell." he says, lying through his teeth.  
The rest of them follow suit, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders in a chorus of "No", "Nope", and "No idea".  
"Because justice always triumphs?" Drax offers.  
Rocket guffaws. He is often the most cynical of the group.  
"How are we supposed to know what your buddies think you should know?" he asks, shaking his head.  
"So you really don't know? None of you?" Morthwyl insists, as perplexed as the rest of them.  
"Yes. Well, no. - Rocket says, confusing even himself - We are positively ignorant." he declares.

Morthwyl looks like he is going to prolong the surreal conversation, but Shanleigh blocks him  
"Enough of this! - she orders - If you don't know now, you soon will. You're bound to receive a big surprise, that is certain." she adds with a smirk.  
"Now we should go. - she continues - We shouldn't leave the Council waiting."  
There is general assent on this point.  
"Yeah, let's go, before they think we did a runner." Rocket declares.  
"Wait! Just a second. - Euan intervenes - Put some of this on, if you please, o Guardians." he instructs, handing over to Peter a small, round metal box. The lid is inscribed with the now-familiar crazy little pictures of High Kree script and he unscrews it to reveal some thick white paste.

"What is it?" Rocket asks, peering inside. He sniffs it and snorts. It smells strongly like some sort of herb, a green smell, strangely at odds with its colour.  
"Ritual paint. For these." Euan explains, pointing at the white markings on his own face.  
"And what do they mean? Why should I wear them too?" Rocket insists.  
"Do you always ask so many questions, furry little warrior?" Aodhfin retorts with a mixture of amusement and exhasperation.  
Rocket gives him a dirty look, but thankfully Euan's explanation attracts his attention and makes him drop the subject.  
"They are the white tears, a symbol of mourning. We wear them to remember and honour the dead. - the Kree says - And since you are Ronan's comrade-in-arms, I thought you would want to wear them in solidarity."he adds calmly.

"Who are we mourning?" Drax butts in, going slightly yellowish in dismay.  
Peter's heart suddenly clenches and he nearly lets the box drop to the floor. He turns towards Gamora and on her face he sees an identical expression of dread.  
Back where they first took him on board, Ronan had told them at length about the honourable Kree tradition of some gruesome kind of ritual suicide, but sure the friendly, smiling Accusers are not implying... or are they?

"All the dead of the wars needlessly instigated by the Mad Titan, of all species and systems. - Shanleigh replies - Today is a day of remembrance and reconciliation." she adds solemnly.  
Peter lets out a sigh and nearly slumps in relief. He is not the only one .  
"Is everything alright?" Morthwyl enquires, looking slightly confused.  
Ronan chuckles quietly.  
"I suspect they though you were preparing to guide me to the Fields of Reeds." he replies.  
The youngster looks even more confused and even slightly grossed out.  
"Ew! No, of course not! - he exclaims - How do they even know about it?"  
"I told them." Ronan replies matter-of-factly.  
"Of course. I should have imagined that. - Shanleigh comments, shaking her head - Now can we speed the proceedings up a little bit, please?" she prods.

Peter nods and dips his finger in the white paint, but Ronan grabs his wriat and stops him before he can smear the paint on his cheeks.  
"You can't do them yourself. - he explains - Let me." he declares.  
Peter closes his eyes and lets him draw twin lines of thick white paint from his brow down to his chin. He though it would feel sticky, but it does not. It's a bit stiff actually and he can feel it cracking lightly as he re-opens his eyes.  
"Will you do mine?" Ronan asks.  
"Are you sure it's a good idea? I mean, with your scars..." Peter retorts.  
"It's safe, I promise. It will wash off with no ill effects. - Ronan insists - I cannot go out there like _this_." he adds with urgence.  
"Like what?" the Terran repeats, still uncomprehending.  
"White tears mean that you're honouring the dead. Blood tears mean that you will exact retribution for their deaths." Euan suggests.

"Ah, alright. Not the right message." Peter comments.  
"Indeed." Ronan confirms, closing his eyes and going down on a knee.  
The scar tissue feels thick and ropy under Peter's fingers, still tender and half-healed. He is terrified of hurting him with a clumsy touch, but Ronan doesn't seem to be in any pain, and the pain is thick enough to cover the dark flesh almost completely, so that when he rises, it is almost as if he had never been wounded.

Peter smiles and passes the pot to Gamora.  
In a matter of minutes, the faces of all the Guardians are streaked with white, even Groot's, and they march to the Council Hall, Shanleigh and Euan at the front, while the two junior Accusers close their weird little procession.  
Off they go, under the gaze of all the denizens of the Palace, but unimpeded, at least until they reach the antechamber to the Hall.  
There, just in front of the door, stand four officers of the Nova Corps, all dressed in black. Even though their faces are smeared with ash, Peter recognises Rhomann Dey and a couple of the other officers. They were among those who raised their fists the day before.

"Why do the sons and daughters of Xandar bar our way?" Shanleigh asks, tapping the end of her mace on the floor. Her voice is loud enough to resonate in the whole room, as big as it is, and attract everyone's attention.  
Peter feels a shiver of apprehension run along his spine.  
"What the hell is going on here?" he thinks once more.  
Ronan takes his hand and gives it a quick, light squeeze, just to tell him that everything is OK.

"We do not seek to stop you, Accuser." Dey replies, equally loud and resonant, as if it is all a ritual, which it might well be.  
"We seek to join you in this day of remembrance, if you will have us." he adds, taking a step towards her.  
Shanleigh nods gravely.  
"All the dead are like brothers and sisters in the embrace of the Goddess. - she declares, taking a step towards him - Let us be like brothers and sisters too, and mourn them together." she adds, holding a hand out to him.  
Dey takes it, clasping it around the wrist, then pulls her in and wraps her in a tight brotherly hug.  
Shanleigh freezes for a moment, then returns it.  
Euan, Morthwyl and Aodhfin break ranks and step in front of their Xandarian counterparts, exchanging handshakes and hugs.  
It must have been pre-arranged according to an agreed script, Peter thinks, but the message is not less powerful for it.  
They are showing the Universe that no matter how bad things might have been between their people, they are going to fix them together.  
"Take that, Thanos!" he thinks to himself, squeezing Ronan's hand back with a smile and a wink.

The hug-fest finishes as solemnly as it started, and all officers move to their new positions.  
The two junior Accusers, together with the two youngest Nova, open the double doors to the Hall of the Council.  
Shanleigh and Dey take point in their little procession, followed by Euan and a relatively senior, bright-pink-skinned, female Nova officer.  
The Guardians follow their lead, marching into the Hall with measured step and their heads held high.

At the high table, Derdriyu is also wearing the White Tears, like all Kree in the room. Next to her, Nova Prime is wearing a dress of the darkest black cloth, something so dark that it almost appears to absorb the light around it. Her brow is streaked with grey lines of ash, more discreet than the faceful of soot the Nova are wearing, but equally undeniable. Their hands are joined above the table.  
Xandarians and Kree really mourn together.

All the heads of state seem to have been infected by their quiet sombreness, and show, perhaps less openly, their respect by wearing dark clothes like the Xandarians or traditional funerary ornaments of their people. Even Kl'rt seems a bit less boisterous than usual.  
The whole atmosphere is subdued and solemn, more like a funeral vigil than a tribunal.

There is a small smile on Ronan's face.  
Xandar and Kree stand together, even closer than they stood before, united by the pain Thanos has caused to both, and the rest of the systems stand beside them. The Council has not just held. It has been strengthened for the coming fight. Whatever else might happen, Ronan has already scored his victory.

The group stops in the center of the Hall, and Ronan walks alone to the lonely chair set in front of the judges.  
He kneels this time, even though Peter knows that he is still sore, actually even more sore than he was the day before, after all the... _activity_ they have been doing.  
He just stays there and waits with his head down, without even trying to glance up, in a display of total submission.  
For a long moment nothing happens, then Emperor J'son raises his hand.  
"Stand, Ronan of the Guardians. The Council has deliberated on your fate." he announces without even a hint of a smile.

Peter finds his heart is racing and his hands are shaking in anxiety. He grabs Gamora's equally trembling hand and squeezes it tight, trying to find reassurance in that contact. On the other side, Drax grabs his hand too, and he can see Rocket grab Drax's hand and Groot grab Rocket's, a bit like when they held the Orb, only this time what they share is not the power of a thousand suns, but the fear that their comrade-in-arms, their friend, their lover, will be taken away.

"I hear you, o Councillors. What is the verdict? What fate have you decreed for me?" Ronan responds, supporting himself on the chair to stand up, straight and proud.  
"All in due time, young man. - Majestrix Lilandra intervenes - Before that, the council has another announcement to make." she reveals.  
"We had though that this man had already shown us to what heights of folly and destruction a war could be pushed. - she declares, pointing her hand towards Ronan - But we were wrong. This morning, come dawn, a group of so-called hacktivists published a video on the ComNet. Other videos have been following suit. They still are, as far as I am aware." she reveals.

Peter's eyes go wide in wonder.  
"More videos?" he thinks. Where have they come from? Who has made them? Has their bare-faced attempt at screwing over Nova Prime's adversaries in the Xandarian Senate produced such huge ripples across the Galaxies?  
He dares to glance towards Gamora, but she looks as surprised as he is.  
His eyes instictively search Andromake and Vesta, even though he knows he should not. There are wide smiles on their faces.  
That Anti-War Network they had been working with, they have been doing much more than just distributing their video. They have been joining the party in an attempt to fix the Universe, one click at a time.  
They might just have made it.

"All of them show that the folly of war cannot be blamed on one side only. - Lilandra continues - That all of us have our share of blame for the atrocities committed in the wars between our peoples, be it for our blindness to other solutions, be it for the pride and arrogance that prevented us to take a first step towards peace, or be it for the crimes we wilfully committed in the name of victory." she explains.  
"We were lucky, my people and the Spartoi. We were blessed that the conflict between us did not escalate into utter destruction. Others were less lucky, and today we mourn their innocent dead." she continues, looking pointedly at where Nova Prime and Derdryu are sitting.  
"As for the ones that didn't even have the luck of being pulled back from the very brink, even their names are lost, and their once proud cities are rubble and dust." she concludes.

"We, the rulers of the principal systems of this Cluster, cannot just rely on luck to fix this problem. - J'Son continues - We cannot always expect that two brave young people will fall in love in spite of the war between their nations and manage to end it. We cannot always hope that a band of heroic scoundrels will place themselves between a rogue warlord and his innocent victims." he declares firmly.

"Emperor J'son is right. We cannot rely on wishful thinking. - Nova Prime agrees, nodding gravely - And you were also right, young man." she adds, turning towards Ronan.  
"We cannot conveniently blame Thanos for all our woes. - she declares - He might have pushed us into certain positions, but we cannot hide behind his shadow, however large. We need to take responsability for our actions and omissions. We have to have the courage to admit that we did wrong."

She makes a pause now, her usually controlled mask cracking a bit around the edges. She takes a big breath and resumes her speech.  
"Twenty-six years ago, my predecessors in this office committed a heinous crime. - she confesses - Disguising them as "surgical air-strikes" of military objectives, they commanded the bombings of civilian targets in the Kree Empire, of schools and hospitals, of public buildings and temples. They told us it was for our good, to finish a war that had already lasted too long, a war that we were losing. They hid behind classified information and state secrets, they lied, and, sheltered behind those comforting barriers, we refused to see, we refused to ask ourselves why you refused to yield, why you persisted in a war that had long outlived its usefulness." she explains.

"We called you savages, unreasonable, bloodthirsty. - she continues after another brief pause, but her voice is starting to grow brittle - It was easier to think you evil than to admit that we had wronged you. Because we have, and it was inexcusable." she declares, blinking furiously.

"Is she pretending to be about to cry or is she doing it for real?" Peter thinks, fascinated and mildly horrified. Ever since he has met her, Nova Prime had never expressed any concern for the welfare of the Kree, and yet now it seems that it pains her personally to think about their suffering.  
Is it all pretence? Or have they just given her the opportunity to show her true colours under the politician's mask, like Dey seemed to be suggesting?

"Our leaders thought that the lives of thousands of Kree civilians were inconsequential compared to their plans for the war. - Nova Prime continues and though it looks like she is trying, she cannot hold back a tear or two - Today I am here to tell you that not all Xandarians think like that.  
Today I am here to ask you for your forgiveness." she announces, and all of a sudden she pushes back her chair and lowers herself to her knees in front of Derdriyu.  
"I know it can never be enough to make good of the pain my predecessors have caused to your people, but please, accept our apologies and our contrition. - she continues - Those who have committed crimes against you will receive the just punishment, I swear it by the Goddess. Let the rest of my people make amends to yours in friendship and collaboration, instead. Let us heal the wounds our forefathers have opened." she offers.

With an ease that belies her blindness, Derdriyu takes Nova Prime's hands in hers and stands, pulling the Xandarian up with her.  
"Don't kneel, sister. Stand with me. - she says, as tearful as her counterpart - Let there be no more enimity between our peoples. Let there be peace and understanding. Let our peoples stand together in _Ma'at_, and fight together against the forces that sought to destroy us all." she declares solemnly.  
"So be it, sister. - Nova Prime agrees - Let the thousand faces of the Goddess be our witnesses in this. Let us write it in stone, so that our successors will be equally bound by these words for all time." she proposes.

"_Bakh-ker!_" Derdriyu exclaims. Without any warning, she throws her arms around Nova Prime's shoulders and wraps her in a hug. Nova Prime nearly yelps in surprise and, for the first time since Peter has known her, blushes.

"_Bakh-ker!_" Ronan exclaims, raising his fist in acclamation. He is smiling and crying at the same time, and Peter would love nothing better than to stand there with him and hold him close.  
Even if he is quite sure that there will be a catch, somewhere, that this whole love-fest hides some more down-to-earth, nitty-gritty commercial agreements and stuff like that, Peter cannot deny that it feels moving and solemn and, goddamn it! he feels proud of being there, of having set things in motion so that it could happen.

"_Bakh-ker_!" repeat all the Kree, one by one, and the Xandarians start clapping their hands and thumping their feet on the floor. Some hug their former enemies in a fit of enthusiasm, in spite of the usual Kree shyness.  
Soon the representatives from the other systems join them in saluting the newfound agreement, each in their own traditional way. The Centaurians whistle, the Skrull thump their chests, the Spartoi ululate and the Shi'ar shout "Io! Io! Io!".

For long moments, the Hall is a cacophony of joy, until Emperor J'son stands and with him all of the members of the Council. An attendant rings the gong placed on one side of the room, over and over.  
Slowly, the noise dies down and everyone returns to their places.  
"People of the Cluster! Heed me! - J'son commands - Today is a day of great joy, but also of great mourning. In the name of my fellow Councillors, I propose that we observe a minute of silence, in memory of all the people, from all systems and all sides of our senseless wars, who are not here with us today." he proclaims.

A deep hush falls immediately onto the Hall.  
It feels odd to be standing there in total silence, Peter thinks. Many people have closed their eyes, probably to be better able to see their lost ones in their minds. It is a very intimate moment, and it feels just _wrong_ to watch them as if they were a side-show.  
Peter closes his eyes too and tries to think of his mum.  
Would she be happy of what he has done with his life, he asks himself. Would she be proud of him? Or would she be miffed that he had never achieved any formal qualification?

What makes him really sad is that he never really knew her, not for real. He knew that she loved him, but not what she thought about politics, or gay marriage, what did she do at college, who was her best friend in high school, or what was her favourite movie.  
If J'son had not told him of the shotgun and the shed, he would have never even known how she had met his father... They are not the most kid-safe topics, he knows it, especially for a six-year old, but he wishes he knew the answers.  
He wishes he had met the amazing young woman who could repair an alien spaceship without batting an eyelash, and wanted to be the first Terran to embark on an interstellar voyage.  
He wishes he could remember her like that, and not just the sad, ill woman that she was at the end.  
She deserved better than that.

Another booming ring of the bell distracts him from his musings. The minute if silence is over and Lilandra takes center stage again.  
"May this day and what lead to it never be forgotten. - she intones - The errors of the past have made us wiser and stronger, but it was enlightement acquired at a cruel price. Together, we have the power to prevent it all from happening again." she announces.  
"This Council has decreed to constitute itself into a permanent transnational institution, with the explicit aim of preventing and containing conflict by means of peaceful mediation, and of investigating and sanctioning violations of sentient rights and war crimes." Nee-Lan, the Duchess of Gramosia, announces.

"Yeah, right. Now we are all dead set on busting that arrogant Titan, so we have to work together. But that's no guarantee that we will manage to be all good and friendly forever. - Kl'rt chimes in - We'll get onto each other's nerves and we will be in conflict, it's only natural." he explains coolly.  
"The Council is not here to forbid a bit of shouting or even pummeling between adult professionals. But if someone, anyone, starts torching temples, or butchering civilians again... - he continues - Then someone else will be sent from the Council and will have their guts for breakfast." he concludes with an anticipatory grin.

Lilandra gives him a dark look and shakes her head.  
"Since the law is only ever valid if it can be enforced, the Council will be endowed with an investigation and response force, and with a permanent tribunal. - she announces - Negotiations of these aspects of the Council's workings are still pending, and arrangements are not yet definitive, but..." she says.  
"But we are going to have a test run anyway with our blue friend there!" Kl'rt concludes for her, looking and sounding inordinately pleased with himself.  
At those words, Ronan stands even more straight, if possible, looking every inch like a person who has nothing to fear from any decision they might take.  
Peter, instead, is terrified, and Gamora is too, by the looks of it.  
They squeeze each other's hans as if by anchoring themselves to each other they can somehow withstand what's to come.

"Ronan of the Guardians. Your _haaq_-masters and their families petitioned this Council to have you freed from your bondage. - Nova Prime recaps - I am afraid that the Council has agreed that we cannot grant you your freedom, young man." she says, almost kindly.  
Peter sighs. It chafes, but it was to be expected.  
What is unexpected, and, actually, totally bonkers is Ronan's reaction to those words. He chuckles, the nutjob, and shakes his head as if they are the funniest joke in the Universe. What the hell is wrong with him sometimes?!

"Is there something wrong?" Nova Prime asks too, evidently piqued.  
"Nothing, madam, nothing at all. - Ronan replies, still smiling - It's just... ironic."  
Nova Prime gives him a perplexed look. Welcome to our world, Peter thinks.  
"What?" she insists.  
"Your words. You said you can't give me my freedom, but you don't realise that you already have. - Ronan explains, shaking his head - You made justice for the Fires, and by doing so, you released me from my obligation towards the victims and the survivors. I am free. I am at peace, finally." he declares with a wide, almost ecstatic smile. He is painfully beautiful like that.  
"And that's why I love you even if you're totally bonkers..." Peter thinks.

Nova Prime looks at Ronan with a wistful but slightly awed expression.  
"Are you ready to accept your fate?" she asks.  
"I will do what is required by justice, no matter how painful or distressing for me." Ronan replies, calm as a pond.  
Derdriyu nods and touches her hand to Nova Prime's, who nods as well.  
"Ronan of the Guardians, you have pleaded guilty to all accuses moved to you by the Xandarian government. - the Xandarian declares - This council has reviewed your case, and has concluded that, for the gravity of your crimes, the appropriate sentence should have been to serve a life sentence in prison..." she reveals calmly. Ronan falters, like he has been hit. He leans heavily on the chair just to stay upright, but doesn't protest.

Peter feels like he has been stabbed with a knife to the heart. The pain is almost physical, it hollows him out. It feels like he cannot breathe.  
It can't be happening... It's not fair! It's not right! They can't just take him away, just like that!  
Except that they can, and they will. They will take away the rest of Ronan's life and the best part of Gamora's and his own life for some shit political reason, to make the Xandarians happy and put a final stop on an embarrassing historical period. There, all swept beneath the rug!  
He should have never asked his biological father to intercede for Ronan. He should have let sleeping dogs lie. It is his fault that they are losing him. It's on him and his stupidly loud mouth.

Gamora lets out a high keening noise, almost like a wail and makes a half-hearted attempt to launch herself at the table of the judges. It takes both Peter and Drax to contain her, though.  
Less extreme reactions of disapppointment bloom all over the Hall. His exploits in the Temple and his behaviour during the trial have won him many supporters.

"Calm down, people! - Kl'rt exclaims, clapping his large, bony hands - Don't you want to hear the rest?" he adds.  
"The rest?! What rest?!" Peter thinks groggily as he tries to hold Gamora down, but the noise dies down nonetheless.  
"As I was saying, your punishment should have been prison, - Nova Prime says as soon as she can make herself heard - but this Council has agreed that the primary objective of justice is the rehabilitation of criminals into society. We have also agreed that you have shown sincere repentance, that you have taken huge personal risks to make amends for your crimes, and that locking you away will not help this process. Considering this, and considering the other extenuating circumnstances, the Council has decided to commute the sentence into something more useful for you and for the whole society." she declares.  
"Wait, what?!" Peter thinks, baffled by the sudden reprieve.

"Together with High Priestess Derdriyu, I have proposed that, on the condition that they pledge themselves to the Council and to the fight against Thanos, you will continue to serve in your position of retainer to the Guardians at least until the threat of the Mad Titan is eliminated. - Nova Prime continues - Your position will be reviewed periodically, and if you show any sign of relapse, your privileges will be revoked and you will be incarcerated." she explains, glibly presenting the status quo as a big innovation and as a generous concession. She is incredibly good at her craft and Peter feels like hugging her for it.  
They can be together! Peter feels like dancing and jumping up and down in joy.  
Groot doesn't even have his feeble inhibition. He just does what he wants, and now he is happy, so he bounces up and down and smiles in the carefree way of children, saying that he knew, he just knew everything was going to be alright.

"Do you agree to this arrangement, _mari-anni_?" Derdriyu asks, looking almost maternal as she calls him like an older relative would do.  
"I welcome your wise words, _muty-i."_ Ronan replies in the same vein, and since he is almost pathologically unable to lie, he must mean it when he calls them both mother. In a way, he is not wrong: they have really granted him a new lease of life.

"And you, Guardians? - Derdriyu continues, unable to hide her wide, satisfied smile - Do you pledge to take this man in your custody? Do you pledge to serve the Council and fight against Thanos and the forces of _isfet_ who seek to end all life in the Universe?" she asks.  
"I do!" Peter yells without hesitation.  
"I do!" Gamora shouts between tears.  
"I do." Drax says, nodding to himself.  
"I am Groot!" Groot exclaims, all excited by the perspective of more adventure.  
Rocket sighs. "Like we were going to say anything else... - he comments shaking his head - I do. Of course I do. What the hell, that nutjob's grown on me!" he adds, as if to justify himself.

"I do." Nebula butts in.  
"But you're not a Guardian!" Rocket protests.  
"I go where my sister goes." the Luphomorian replies with determination.  
"I think it is fair, comrades. - Drax intercedes, to everyone's surprise - They are kin. And she fights well." he argues.  
"Alright. Alright. - Rocket concedes - But I am not Rat, or Vermin, or Furry. I am Rocket." he adds, standing up to her at his full height of maybe three feet.  
"And I am not Blue Bitch, or Crazy Bitch. I am Nebula." the Luphomorian retorts, crossing her arms over her chest.  
"Deal." Rocket agrees, copying her gesture.

"And we are what the Terrans call a "package deal". If you take her in, you will have to take me in too." Loki adds, putting an arm over her shoulders.  
"Fine by me." Drax declares.  
"Welcome to the band, Icicle!" Rocket exclaims.  
"And no calling me Icicle." Loki retorts.  
"You guys always suck all the joy from life..." Rocket grumbles quietly, doing a small air-kick.

"Since we are in agreement, I give my pledge too, my ladies. - Loki says, turning towards the Councillors - The Guardians treated me as kin when no one else would, so I will stand by them, and fight with them." he declares, looking pointedly at Odin.  
The greybeard looks back at him with disdain, but thankfully does not comment. He has done enough damage already during Loki's hearing the week before. He might be a good ruler and uber-powerful, but he is mostly a total dick.

"We are all in agreement, then. - Derdriyu sums up, still smiling fondly - The deal is struck. You can return to your rightful place among the Guardians, Ronan of House Danu." she announces.  
Ronan dips his head in an approximation to a bow.  
"Thank you for your trust, o Councillors. I will prove to you that it was not misplaced." he promises, then turns away and finally, finally, returns to them.  
Groot doesn't even wait for him to come all the way back. He just runs towards him and throws himself into Ronan's arms, nearly bowling him over.  
Ronan catches him and lets the plant-child wrap him in his branches.  
"You are going to ruin my reputation, little one." he chides, but with a smile.  
"I am Groot." Groot replies, and Peter agrees with him. He too can't care less about his tough-as-nails reputation right now. He only cares that he has been given back to them, and that no one else will take him away.  
He too breaks away from the crowd of spectators and dashes towards his boyfriend. They embrace each other in the moddle of the Hall, and Gamora joins them almost immediately, and they hold each other and kiss each other, ignoring the cheers and the whistles from the crowd.

The rest of their messy family joins in, Rocket and Drax, Nebula and Helenai, Vesta and Make, and even Loki and Gladiator, even though they look a bit embarrassed.  
They basically end up being dog-piled half to death, but it feels comforting and relieving, and actually he wouldn't have it any other way.  
It is absolutely perfect.


	40. Chapter 40

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to , diarmour and MadelineT for their reviews. I'm glad you enjoyed the update and humbled by the compliments. I never imagined this story would become someone's favourite. It means a lot to me.

This is the first chapter of the new arc, in which I try to weave together more strands of the MCU, and it is also relatively long.

Warnings: angst, grief, oecumenism, religiously-motivated bloodletting, mentions of odin behaving like a dick and some silliness.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

After the hearing, they all move to the Temple to say Grace.

Inside great dome, the air still smells like smoke and blood. It sets Ronan's nerves on edge, but he tries to stay calm.  
He hasn't had the opportunity to pray formally, in a real temple, with the right rituals, for a very long time. Peter, Drax, Rocket and Gamora never came across as very religious, and Groot is... well, Groot.  
Usually he just goes to the closest temple on his own, in his spare time, or prays by himself in his room, but this time Gamora has insisted that they all should go and give their thanks to the gods.

Shanleigh and the other three have insisted about coming too, as have the four Xandarians, several of Peter's sisters, and obviously enough, Vesta.  
It's more an oecumenic ceremony than a simple, private thanksgiving, but it still suits him fine. More than fine, actually.

He is happy to stand next to Gamora, Peter and the others as they light the incense and make libations in front of the winged statue of Pama.  
He remembers his parents doing this together, at their small domestic altar, while he and his little brother watched in awed silence. It pleases him to be able to continue the tradition with his new family.

Gamora's parents were religious too, most warriors are, one way or another, and they managed to teach her the ways to honour the ancestral gods of her people before they were taken away from her.  
She finds her gods among the many foreign gods ensconced in the Temple of a Thousand Faces, and for the first time since he knows her, Ronan hears her speak in her native language as she worships them.  
It sounds very different from Trader's or even High Kree, but it is almost eerily beautiful.  
Her voice rises and falls in a chant, as she raises the libation cup to the sky. Ronan doesn't understand a word of what she is saying, but from her expression and the hint of tears in her eyes, it must be heartfelt.

She lowers the cup back on the altar and turns towards the rest of their party.  
"Peter, Ronan, come here." she invites.  
They do, without hesitation, and stand on either side of her, waiting for her instructions.  
Gamora sets the cup down on the altar and pulls out one of her knives. Green blood drips in the spiced milk of the offering, marbling it with colour.  
She wipes the knife and passes it to Peter, who doesn't hesitate to prick his finger and let some of his red blood mix with hers.  
"Are you alright with this?" the Terran asks, handing the knife over to Ronan. He looks slightly worried and Ronan loves him even more for that.  
"I'll be fine." he replies, and cuts a small nick into his palm, letting the blood flow into the cup, adding darker swirls to the rainbow of colours.  
Gamora smiles and nods, setting the knife down on the altar. She picks up the cup again, and both him and Peter join her, holding it with her and rising it again as she chants some more, thanking the gods for seeing all of them safely through their latest ordeal.

Originally she had some misgivings about doing this, because only formally bonded _triadas_ used to perform this ritual, but eventually she decided that the gods would show understanding for their situation, and see that, while they aren't formally bonded, their committment is no less serious.

So there they are, repeating the words of a language to all extent and purposes dead, and honouring the gods of an almost extinct people. Because of Thanos, Gamora is the last of the Zen Whoberi people, and her traditions will die with her. No one will speak their eerie, singsong language, no one will praise the name of the Ever-Maiden and her two consorts, no one will sing their old songs... All will be dust.

They share the libation cup between the three of them, like the High Priestess used to do with her two Champions. It should have been disgusting, but instead it tastes sweet and fruity, and at the same time smoky and slightly tingly like peppercorns. It is an odd combination, but not unpleasant and even a small sip is enough to warm him up a little. It must be the spices, or maybe it's the sheer intimacy of the gesture.

"Nothing says 'we are one' like sharing a bit of blood, eh?" Peter comments, looking more uncomfortable than either him or Gamora. It is odd, since he was the one who had come up with the idea for their little bloodplay scene at the Silk Den.  
Context, Ronan muses, context is everything.  
Blood rituals are relatively common in Kree religious practice, but Ronan bets they aren't in whatever faith Peter grew up with on Terra.  
He lets the subject drop and just smiles at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders for comfort.

They move from altar to altar, paying homage to the gods of Xandar and those of Spartax, to the manes of Shi'ar and the divine ancestors of the Skrull.  
It takes time, but they have it, and this is something that needs to be done.

When she finds her gods in a small alcove, Nebula breaks down in tears and it seems that nothing will ever stop them.  
She doesn't remember the names of the gods of her people, she doesn't remember how to worship them, but she remembers the multi-armed, flexible-limbed statue of the goddess standing over the altar where her mother made her last stand against Thanos to defend her, and remembers it painted in blood when Thanos killed her in front of Nebula's eyes.  
Loki kneels on the ground beside her, holding her against his chest. His red eyes gleam with barely repressed anger.

So far, according to what Peter has told him, Nebula has been his anchor in his moments of weakness and breakdown. She has never faltered, she has never let him down, and now, as she breaks down in turn, after a lifetime of keeping her pain bottled up, Loki does his best to repay her in full.

Ronan doesn't know whether they should try to help too, or leave them alone, and by the looks on their faces, the rest of the Guardians don't know either, while the four Accusers seem just extremely embarrassed.  
As usual, Groot is the one to break the impasse, slithering in Nebula's lap and hugging her gently with his branches. It seems to make her cry even more, but she doesn't chase him away. Upon the contrary, she frees one arm from Loki's embrace and wraps it around the plant-child, holding him even closer to her body.  
This seems to push Gamora over the edge of her indecision. She kneels on the floor too, next to her sister, and whispers words of comfort in her ear as she pets her newly grown hair.

Ronan sighs and kneels next to Gamora, even if his wounds twinge in protest after all the abuse he has put his still-recovering body through.  
Nebula stood at his side almost to the very end on the Dark Aster, and now he is going to be at her side and support her, if she accepts his help.  
"He is going to pay for what he did. - he says quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder - I promised this to you once, and I am going to renew my promise today. Thanos is going to die by our hand, Nebula. Justice will be done for your mother and your people. We have sworn to make it so." he adds.

It is not much in the way of consolation, but it's all he can offer.  
Her loss is too great and still too raw to be soothed by platitudes.  
This must be the first time in years that she allows herself to cry for her family and her people. He doubts that Thanos would have been so kind as to let her mourn them properly.

Nebula cries and cries. There is no shame in it. It just means that she is finally healing.  
Her face is blotchy and her organic eye is all puffy when she finishes, but she seems a bit calmer, a bit better.  
"I will remember. - she says, standing up and wiping the last of her tears from her face with her metal hand - I will remember your names, gods of my people, and when he's dead I'll come here and sacrifice to you a fat ewe that never bore lambs, like my mother used to do after a battle." she promises.  
Her voice trembles, but she manages to stay in control.  
Loki stands too and hugs her tighter. "And then you'll teach me, so there will be two of us to remember them." he offers.  
Nebula nods in agreement, then in a spur of the moment, grabs him by the lapels of his coat and kisses him hard.  
Things seem to be mending, Ronan thinks as he pushes himself upright.

Suddenly a loud clap of thunder rumbles above the Temple.  
"Aw, shoot! This one was close. - Rocket exclaims - We're gonna get soaked just crossing back to the Palace!" he adds, ears dropping in disappointment.  
Ordinarily Ronan would have felt tempted to make some sarcastic remark about how pitiful the Raccoon looks when he is miserably wet, but Loki's reaction has captured his entire attention.

For a moment the Jothunn slips back into his pale pink-skinned Asgardian persona, then turns back to his true form with a grimace.  
"That's no natural thunderclap." he announces somberly.  
"Wait, what?!" Rocket exclaims, but Loki doesn't wait to reply to him and in a split second has already teleported out of the Temple.  
"What the hell is going on here?!" Peter protests.  
"That was the Bifrost." Nebula replies with a certain anxiety.  
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Rocket insists.  
"It means that someone or something is arriving from Asgard." she replies over her shoulder as she starts running straight out of the temple.

Gamora curses and runs after her.  
Ronan exchanges a glance with Peter and they both start running after them as fast as they can, which in Ronan's case is a lot slower than his usual pace.  
He hears Rocket curse loudly and start running too, huffing and puffing and struggling to keep up with them with his shorter legs. From the sound of it, he is running bipedal, which is odd, because he can move much faster on all four limbs.  
"I am Groot!" Groot exclaims.  
Ah, now he understands why. Rocket is carrying the plant-child as he runs.  
Ronan hears the thump of a pair of boots, someone is approaching fast, then Rocket yelps.  
"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" he exclaims.  
"I am carrying you, I thought it was self-evident!" Drax replies.  
In a moment he has managed to fall in line with Ronan and Peter, and the Terran nearly runs into a doorpost because he is guffawing at them. Drax is carrying a slightly terrified and quite humiliated Rocket and the Raccoon in turn is holding on to Groot for dear life, while the plant-child laughs merrily. It is enough to bring a smile to his lips.

As soon as they step outside, though, things get suddenly serious again.  
Loki is standing in the middle of the plaza, squarely in front of a rushing column of multicoloured light, which is quickly coalescing into a bipedal silhouette.  
They take their places behind him, in a loose defensive semi-circle, weapons in hand.  
The Accusers and the Nova are not far behind and join in the defense. Whatever emerges from that thing will have to mind their behaviour or face a serious beating.

The light suddenly fades, revealing an Asgardian man, pink-skinned and muscular, with long blond hair and a short beard. He is wearing an armour and a cape, and a hammer hangs from his belt. He looks like he knows how to use it.

"Bro... Thor Odinsson." Loki greets, masking his grimace with a polite incline of his head.  
"Brother! - the newcomer exclaims, looking surprised - What are you doing here?! And where is...?" he starts.  
"The All-Father is in the Imperial Palace, at the moment, conferring with the rest of the Council. - Loki concludes for him - I assume you were looking for him..." he adds coolly, even as his form flickers again between Asgardian-like and Jothunn.  
"I was, but you... - he stammers - What are you doing here, Loki? Does father know? Has he pardoned you?" he asks, caught between sternness and hope.

Loki shakes his head. "The All-Father has formally forbidden me to claim any relation with him or his kin." he reveals, managing to appear calm as a pond even though Ronan knows that it hurts him.  
"The only reason why I am not in a dungeon once more is this." the Jothunn adds wryly, pulling out the Space Gem, seemingly from thin air.  
It sits on his palm, glowing gently, and Thor looks at it with awe and horror.

"It's the Tesseract! - he exclaims - How can you have it?! It was..."  
"It was in Odin's most secure vault, I know. - Loki completes smugly - I took it from there. It wasn't hard, since I _was_ Odin at the time."  
"This is preposterous! - Thor exclaims - How could you _be_ Odin?" he asks.  
Loki shrugs. "Easily. I have been shapeshifting unconsciously ever since I was an infant. Doing it voluntarily was hardly more challenging." he explains smugly.  
"You took his place!" Thor accuses.  
Loki just nods. "Ever since the Svartalfar invasion. - he confirms - Remember when you commented that he had mellowed out? You thought that it was because of mo... of his wife's death, but actually it was because I am not as heartless and cynical as he is." he comments angrily.

"So all the reforms he made, all the edicts he emanated..." Thor says, still shaken and astonished.  
"Yes, it was me all along. - Loki confirms - You agreed with me. You realised that it must be done." he adds, now with a hint of desperation.  
"I did, brother. Your actions were wise. - he agrees, inclining his head - But what about your intentions?" he asks sternly.  
"My intentions? - Loki repeats - I wanted Odin to pay for his myopic idiocy. I wanted to rule. I wanted to prove to myself and the rest of Asgard that I could be wise and just, that I could be better than him." he hisses angrily.  
"Petty, is it not? - he adds self-deprecatively - I was petty and angry. I was furious with him for using me as a political pawn against the Jothunn, for letting me believe that he cared when he did not, for leaving me to rot in that cell and pretending I never existed. And I was furious at myself, for letting Thanos use me in turn."  
"Thanos? Who is Thanos?" Thor asks, more and more confused.  
"He is the one who tortured me into near-insanity and then sent me to Midgard to wreak distruction on the not-so-puny mortals. - Loki reveals with a wry grin - He is the one who breeds wars of mutual destruction beween neighbouring systems all across the Universe. He is the one who breaks people into weapons. He is the one who seeks to re-unite the Infinity Gems and bring about Ragnarok. He is the enemy, and we have all sworn to fight him to victory or death." he adds solemnly.

"The Infinity Gems?!" Thor repeats.  
Loki nods as if his adoptive brother is a bit slow.  
"Yes, bro... Thor. Ingots of raw power born of the primordial forces of creation. - he explains - The Tesseract is Time, the Aether is Reality..."  
"And the Soul Gem surfaced on Midgard only a few months ago." Thor concludes.  
"Woah! - Peter exclaims - How comes three of the Gems have found their way to Terra?"  
"I have no answer for you, man of Midgard, but this last one Loki brought it to Midgard with him." Thor replies.

A little chorus of "What?!" resonates in the plaza. Loki seems the most shocked of all.  
"It was hidden in the Chitauri scepter you were wielding." Thor explains.  
Loki shakes his head and chuckles.  
"I was wielding two of the Gems and some mortals still managed to defeat me..." he comments self-deprecatively.  
"It was for the best, _mo chroi._ \- Nebula reassures him, placing a hand on his shoulder - And at least they didn't defeat you by distracting you with their pelvic sorcery..." Nebula comments archly, shooting a very obvious glance at Ronan.

"It wasn't because of the dancing _per se_, - the Kree feels compelled to justify himself, blushing furiously - it was because it was random and out of context." he adds lamely.  
"So it was not because I am so sexy?" Peter provokes, winking and cocking his hips seductively.  
"Peter, this is not the right moment!" Ronan retorts, blushing even harder.

Thor gives them all a totally flabbergasted look.  
"Oh, don't worry, they are always like this." Loki reassures him with a grin.  
"Who are these people?" Thor asks.  
"These six are the Guardians of the Galaxy. - he adds, indicating them with a wide gesture of his hand - The four blue people are Kree accusers. The ones that look like Midgardians in the dark uniforms are Xandarians, those maidens are part of the Spartoi imperial family, and the two purple people are from the Shi'ar royal family..." he continues nonchalantly.  
"And this is Nebula, my partner." he concludes finally, taking the Luphomorian's hand in his.  
"Ah... - Thor manages - I am honoured to meet you." he says awkwardly, dipping a sketchy bow at Nebula.  
"It seems you have made friends quite fast here, brother." he continues more archly.  
"Anyone who can teleport a metric fuckton of incendiary bombs in Thanos' face is my friend!" Rocket comments.

"I used the Tesseract's power. - Loki explains, seeing his former brother's uncomprehending expression - I am its master and its vessel. It chose me. It is part of me, now. This is why the All-Father couldn't send me back to his dungeons." he reveals. He whips it out again, seemingly from nowhere and holds it in his palm again. All it takes is for him to concentrate a bit and the Gem dissolves into his flesh, becoming one with him once more.  
"Is that the reason why your countenance is... _changed_?" Thor asks, looking even more awed than before.  
Loki laughs and shakes his head. "Why I am blue, you mean? It would be a fine explanation, but no. - he replies - I am like this because _this_ is how I really look. This is what I really am, and I am not going to hide it anymore, especially not to spare anyone's sensitivity." he reveals, his voice low and tense.

"I wanted for you, Queen Frigga and Odin to accept me, I wanted to be like you, so I hid my face behind a lie for years and years, for my entire life. - he continues, nearly shaking in anger - I lied so long and so much that I didn't know it wasn't the truth anymore. But now I know: I am not Asgardian, and I am not really Jothunn either, Odin made sure of it. I am some twisted in-between, with no place to call his own, and _this_ is my face. You can either accept it or not. I don't care. I am not going to change for you." he declares defiantly, but his own body gives him the lie by flickering again between blue and pale pink.  
No matter how tough he acts, Loki still craves the affection and the recognition of the only family he had ever had.

"I... It's strange to look at you and see the countenance of an ancient enemy of my people. - Thor comments, shaking his head - Doubly so because you are my brother, and I used to know your face better than my own, but I am sure I will get used to your true form, in time." he adds with a warm smile.  
"I am not your brother. There is no blood-kinship between us." Loki objects sadly.  
"Our mother called you son. This is enough for me, no matter what the All-Father might think. - Thor retorts - I will call you brother. Will you do the same with me?" he asks, holding out a hand towards him.  
"I would... but I can't. - Loki reveals, looking heartbroken - I physically can't. The All-Father put a binding _geas_ on me as part of my sentence of perpetual banishment from Asgard." he explains, hanging his head.  
Thor looks totally heartbroken too, and once more Ronan is caught by the sudden impulse to beat Odin All-Father to a pulp for his callousness towards his family.

"_Sen-i._ \- he blurts out - Call him _sen-i._ It means the same, but in High Kree. The _geas_ will not be able to stop you." he explains, feeling Loki's red eyes bore into him.  
"Is Sir No-Loopholes offering me a loophole?" the Jothunn quips.  
"Your thoughts are unchanged, and no law would be able to change them, even if the word is forbidden to you. You need to voice them, lest they fester inside you. - Ronan replies ignoring his defensive sarcasm - I am just offering you a word to do so, and preserve the bond between the two of you." he adds, gesturing towards them.  
"_Sen-i_." Loki tries. The _geas_ doesn't stop him and a broad smile spreads on his face.  
"_Sen-i._ \- he repeats again - This is how I will call you, Thor Odinsson, if it pleases you." he declares.  
"It does, brother." Thor agrees. They clasp hands solemnly, then the Asgardian nearly crushes Loki into a bear hug, despite his protests.

"So, good-brother, what do you seek on Spartax Prime?" Helenai asks when the enthusiasm for their reunion has died down a bit.  
"Good-brother? How are we related, Princess?" Thor asks.  
"Nebula is Gamora's sister, and Gamora is practically married with Ronan and with my brother Peter." Helenai replies with a smile.  
"Oh. - Thor comments, a bit at a loss - I never thought I would find more of my kin here. Well, pleased to meet you all." he greets genially.  
"The pleasure is ours. - Helenai retorts - Loki has told us much about you."  
"Good things, I hope." Thor says.  
"Of course." Helenai confirms.  
"I come here with disquieting news from Midgard. - Thor announces - A third Infinity Gem has surfaced on the planet and it was nearly claimed by a twisted artificial intelligence, bent on the total destruction of humankind." he reveals.  
"A bad robot?" Rocket comments.  
"Yes, self-aware and with a giant ego." Thor confirms.  
"Let me guess. Tony Stark made him." Loki butts in.  
"That is correct, brother. The similarity was uncanny. They truly looked like father and son." Thor comments with a wry smile.

"Who the hell is Tony Stark?" Rocket butts in.  
"One of the Avengers, my battle-brother." Thor replies.  
"One of the Terrans who kicked Loki's backside." Nebula explains.  
"He didn't precisely do that. - Loki protests - It was mostly the huge green monster." he clarifies.  
"Wait, that can't be right! They didn't have giant green monsters on Terra, when I left." Peter comments.  
"They definitely have now." Loki confirms grimly.

"I assume you dealt with the robot, am I right?" Helenai intervenes, pushing the conversation back on track.  
"The Avengers did, with some help. - Thor confirms with a nod - Vision dealt him the death-blow." he reveals.  
"Vision? - Loki comments archly - I don't recall anyone with that name among the Avengers. Did you start recruiting?"  
"We had a bit of a restructuration. - the Asgardian explains with a grimace - Hulk left, and Hawkeye is on paternity leave, but we were joined by Falcon, War Machine, Scarlet Witch and Vision. He is an android." he adds with a certain fondness.  
"Stark made him too?" Loki asks.  
"I helped." Thor reveals proudly.  
The Jothunn cracks up laughing.  
"Oh, dear. You make it sound like you and Stark had a baby..." he snickers.  
The Asgardian goes bright pink in embarrassment.  
"I am sure I did not." he tries to defend himself.  
"You did too. Is Jane very jealous about this?" Loki teases.  
"Boys! Let's stick to the topic!" Nebula chides.

"Thanks, good-sister. - Helenai says, taking back the lead - So, Thor Odinsson, where is the Gem now? Is it contained? Is it safe from Thanos' hands?" she asks.  
"Vision has it. It is part of him." Thor replies with a nod.  
"And you trust him with it?" Loki comments archly, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.  
"I do. - Thor replies simply - He is worthy." he adds.

Loki's reaction tell Ronan that there is something more to that word that simple praise.  
"What do you mean with worthy? - the Jothunn asks - Did he...?"  
"He did, indeed. He lifted Mjolnir and swung it mightily at our foe. - Thor confirms with a broad, proud smile, patting the unwieldy hammer hanging from his belt - We fought together, side by side, like..."  
"Like kin." Loki fills in for him, and there is a wistful smile on his face.  
"He can never replace you, brother. - Thor reassures him, laying a hand on his shoulder - The kinship between me and Vision is... _different_."  
"I can't wait to see Odin's face when you tell him he's become a grandfather to an android..." Loki comments.

"I apologise for ruining your family moment, warriors, but how can you tell someone's worthiness by the fact that they can lift a hammer?" Helenai butts in, crossing her arms under her breasts. She doesn't look convinced at all.  
"The hammer must have a _geas_ on it, like our weapons of office and Keenblade do. - Shanleigh interjects, pointing at her own weapon - You can use them only if you follow a certain moral code." she explains.  
"Then your old hammer must have had a major malfunction, innit, buddy?" Rocket comments, elbowing Ronan not quite discreetly.  
"It must have been corrupted alongside me by Thanos when he used the Mind Gem on me. - Ronan replies - It's a good thing you destroyed it, comrade." he admits. It is quite painful to do so, but the Universal Weapon was a mighty tool, and he wouldn't have liked the idea of it being used against his allies and kin.

"So it is not totally foolproof, is it?" Helenai insists.  
"Barring major mind control, it should be." Shanleigh retorts, among much nodding from the Accusers.  
"Alright, let's leave it at that, for now. - the princess concedes - The news you bring are dire indeed, prince of Asgard. It seems like Terra has become a major battlefield in this fight against Thanos. The Council needs to be informed." she declares.  
"I would be honoured to do so." Thor agrees.  
"Theo! - Helenai calls, and another of Peter's sisters emerges from the ranks - Go tell Father that they need to interrupt whatever negotiations they are engaged in. This takes top priority."  
"Father won't like it." Theo, short for Theodora, replies, pushing her blond fringe out of her eyes. She is in her teens and has been serving as Helenai's ensign in the Army for a few years.  
"See if I care. - Helenai retorts - Now run along!" she orders.  
Theo huffs, but bows.  
"I'm on it, sis." she agrees and disappears towards the Palace at an incredibly fast clip.

"We should move to the Palace too. - Helenai proposes - It won't take long before we are summoned, and I suppose you would like to refresh yourself before then." she adds, turning to Thor.  
"I would be glad to do so. - the Asgardian agrees - I have never travelled so far on the Bifrost, and I must admit it is thirsty business." he adds.  
"You shall have drinks of water and fragrant juice." Helenai proclaims.  
Thor's face falls a bit.  
"I think he meant ale, but your hearty red wine should suffice, I reckon." Loki intervenes on his behalf.  
"Oh... I apologise. - Helenai says - I thought you didn't partake. I mean, because of the _geas_ in your weapon." she explains.  
"What does it have to do with drinking?" Thor asks with a perplexed frown.  
"Well neither Ronan nor the Accusers drink, and their weapons are all bound with some sort of _geas_. So I assumed..." Helenai explains apologetically.  
"The code doesn't say anything about imbibing inhebriating drinks. - Shanleigh confirms - We just don't drink when we are in service." she adds with a shrug.  
"To be honest, it's not like we really clock off. - Morthwyl explains - To be an Accuser is not just a profession, it's a calling." he declares proudly.  
"And you don't like the taste of alcohol." Euan teases, much to the youngster's chagrin.  
"I don't like it either." Ronan intervenes. That seems to make Morthwyl feel a bit better.

"There will be wine, for you, son of Asgard." Helenai concludes.  
"Many thanks, Princess. Shall we go then?" he offers.  
"Let's, by all means. - she agrees solemnly - Nothing starts your afternoon like a good strategic meeting." she adds sarcastically.  
"We were supposed to go on our honeymoon, my husband Gladiator and I, but the Goddess knows what has happened to that plan..." she sighs.  
Gladiator wraps his arm around her shoulders and gives her a quick kiss on a cheek.  
"Don't worry, _mi lepus_, if we play our cards right, we might still go on our honeymoon on Terra." he says with an excited smile.  
"That would be quite nice." Helenai admits.

Ronan cannot help but second her comment. He sincerely hopes that the Council will send them there, not just because it seems to be one of the main battlefields, but because Peter has told them so many incredible stories about his home planet that he cannot help but wanting to see it for himself.  
One can only hope, he thinks, and this time he walks to the Hall of the Council with almost childish excitement instead of dread.


	41. Chapter 41

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to for the review. Since I started jotting down this fic even before I first watched Avengers Age of Ultron, there is an inconsistency in the placement of the Gems.  
In this fic, Thanos has the Mind Gem (he's had it for a while) and the Chitauri Sceptre that Loki had in the first Avengers held the Soul Gem, which was tainted by Thanos and later used to give sentience to Ultron. Now Vision has it.  
I hope this clarifies the inconsistencies.

I apologise for the shortness of the chapter, but I couldn't really help it.

This is going to be the last chapter before the festive period. I should be back with updates on Mon 11/01/2016, hopefully.

Warnings: politics, mentions of Odin behaving like a dick and some silliness (mentions of recreational drug use, maybe?)

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

The Council has existed only for little over a week, but Gamora could have bet on how things were going to develop.  
There is a lot of talking. Lots and lots of it.

The only thing everyone seemes to be in agreement about, after Thor reports on the whole omnicidal-robot incident is that the situation on Terra is well on its way to become critical and that, if they want to stop Thanos for good, they have to bring the Terran authorities into the plan and send them reinforcements in case of further attacks.  
That they need to mount an expedition is the next logical step, but organising it before they all die of old age seems beyond them.

The Xandarians justly insist that they can't spare any troops. Their fighter fleet is still in tatters after the stunt Ronan pulled on them, and they need every single corpsperson to protect the Power Gem and the Senate back on Xandar.

Conversely, the Kree would love to send some warriors and help the cause of _Ma'at_, but the treaty has forced them to dismantle most of their troop-carriers and fighters, leaving them mostly with freighters that would be useless in a fight.

In spite of the fact that Emperor J'son wants to personally lead an expedition, the Spartoi and Shi'ar fleets are still tied up in their respective theaters of operations, and it will take weeks to ready a wing for a joint mission to Terra.

Odin, instead, lets everyone know that he thinks Asgard is are already doing enough by letting Thor reinforce the Avengers, and so much for intergalactic collaboration.  
On the bright side, the look on the old man's face when Thor tells him that he has more or less fathered an android, is totally priceless, just as Loki had anticipated.

The Skrull, instead seem eager to get to Terra before anyone else, but they get outvoted by the rest of the Council. Kl'rt's rowdy, boisterous Raiders are not the frendliest and most reassuring people you can think of, and the rest of the Council is afraid that they might produce a bad impression on the Terrans.

"Why don't they stop beating around the bloody bush and just send us ad a vanguard?!" Nebula grumbles, fidgeting on the chair.  
"Don't worry, sister. They will. - Gamora reassures her - We are the only practical solution to the problem." she adds.  
"Hold fast, ladies, it's all a matter of time. - Helenai intervenes, leaning over her husband to get closer so that her whispers won't be overheard - They all need to make sure that their needs and concerns are heard. I am sure that they are already in agreement about sending us." she explains.  
"You are coming too?" Nebula comments archly.  
"Damn sure I am. - the Spartoi princess retorts - I have never been outside of this quadrant in my whole life. And Father owes me a honeymoon." she explains.  
"Plus this team needs more girls." Gamora interjects.  
"That too." Helenai agrees.  
"Fine, whatever floats your boat." Nebula concedes, rolling her eyes. She likes Helenai, Gamora knows it for sure, but she needs to assert her independence. Kinship and camaraderie are still relatively new concepts for her, but she is getting there. She just needs time.

"_Blah, blah, blah_...I propose that we send the Guardians, at least to start with, until more troops are ready to be deployed."  
Gamora tunes back in to the proceedings just as the Duchess of Gramosia puts forward her proposal.  
Kamyla, princess of Centauri nods in agreement. "They have sworn, and they have a ship ready to deploy." she points out.  
Gamora privately thinks that they ate never going to be able to fit Nebula, Loki, Helenai and Gladiator on the Milano, but keeps quiet. They'll figure out something in time.  
"And my son Peter knows the local costumes, he can help smoothen things with the authorities." Emperor J'Son chimes in, casting a significant glance towards Peter, who beams at him.

Gamora bites back a chuckle and shakes her head. Peter has not been on Terra since he was six, and smoothing things out with the authorities has never been their strong suit. Getting sent to jail on their first day on a planet is what they really excel at.  
"It's going to be interesting, to say the least..." Ronan comments quietly.  
At least she is not the only one to doubt J'son's assessment.

"I second the Duchess' proposal. - Majestrix Lilandra declares - On the condition that Shi'ar is represented in the first contingent." she adds.  
"Gladiator and I will go. - Helenai intervenes - We are trained statespersons, and we have a ship. I am sure the Guardians would not mind our presence." she adds.  
"Of course not, sis. - Peter confirms - The more, the merrier. And you are always welcome." he reassures.  
"I suppose that settles it." Emperor J'son comments, nodding wisely.  
"It is highly acceptable." Lilandra confirms.  
"Good. Any objections?" J'son asks.

Of course, the only person to pip up is Nova Prime.  
"I request the presence of a Nova Corps officer on the mission. Sorry if it ruins your little family outing, but the Council needs to be fairly represented. " she declares.  
"Fair enough..." J'son  
"What?! - Kl'rt exclaims - So everybody is going but my boys? What problem do you have with them, eh?" he objects.  
This seems to throw a spanner in the works, as the rest of the Councillors seem to be at a loss for words to explain why shapeshifting green aliens with a penchant for violence, drunkenness, and pillage are not the best choice for a diplomatic mission, but Derdriyu manages to save the day.

"The fierceness of your warriors is legendary, Emperor Kl'rt. - she says, and Kl'rt puffs his chest and smiles smugly - We fear that it might be too much for the Terrans to cope with." she adds.  
"Hardly... They shrugged off the Chitauri and the Svartalfar, and then Ultron. - Loki mutters - They are probably going to kick these green buffoons into the stratosphere without so much as a greeting." he whispers heatedly.  
After they defeated him, it's only natural that he supports the Terrans. No one likes to be beaten by the runts of the litter.

"Are we not getting any form of representation in this mission, then?" Kl'rt insists, mollified but not distracted.  
"I didn't say this. - Derdriyu retorts - A full Raid would certainly be too much, but a single warrior or diplomat is not going to be so overwhelming, isn't it, my brothers and sisters?" she proposes.  
The members of the Council nod in agreement. They can hardly offend Kl'rt by refusing. The fearsome reputation of the Skrull warriors is well warranted, and the Council will need them.

"Then I'll send my son and heir, J'rth. It's time that he makes a name for himself" the Skrull Emperor announces.  
The skinny green youth sighs and nods, then shuffles towards the Guardians, looking a bit broken-hearted.  
Helenai has told them that she had caught him and and one of the maids from the Duchess' entourage in the gardens a couple of days before, as they were trying to figure out how much certain parts of his anatomy could actually elongate. J'rth can't be more than eighteen, and the girl is only a bit older than that. Gamora feels slightly sorry for the two of them.

"And I'll send my daugther, Denaarian Saskia Rael." Nova Prime announces, pointing at the bright pink woman who was next to Dey during the hearing, and later at the Temple.  
None of the Guardians even tries to protest when she moves towards them, not even Ronan.  
They need to keep together if they want to have a Universe to have a shouting match in afterwards.

Denaarian Rael looks like she is in her early thirties, about their age, and she must be good, to have survived the craziness that was the Kree-Nova war. She has her mother's eyes, clear and almost colourless, and Gamora hopes that she has also her mother's foresight and ruthlessness.

"Welcome to the team, buddies." Peter greets her and J'rth.  
"Oh yeah... It's gonna be great..." the Skrull comments, rolling his eyes.  
"What's this defeatist talk, kid? - Helenai chides gently, wrapping an arm around his bony shoulders - We have places to see, things to learn, arses to kick. It's going to be a great experience." she adds.  
"I was having enough fun here, thank you very much..." J'rth quips, sighing in misery.

"Man up, son! Don't be such a ninny because of a girl! - Kl'rt butts in - The Terrans will be queueing up to get a tap from a handsome warrior like you." he adds with a booming laugh.  
J'rth blushes dark green to the tip of his pointy ears.  
"And this is precisely why we can't allow the Skrull on Terra on their own..." Saskia whispers, shaking her head.

"If we are all in agreement now, I think it would be best for the Guardians and the envoys to prepare for their mission. - Emperor J'son proposes, retaking the lead of the meeting - We might have delayed Thanos' plans by attacking him in his stronghold, but I don't think this is going to win us a very long respite. Time is of the essence, brave warriors." he explains.

"The Milano is ready to fly as soon as we restock with food and fuel and get the coordinates for Terra from my foster father. - Peter announces - But we can't really fit any more people in it. Maybe one, at a push. It is already quite cosy just for the six of us." he adds apologetically.  
"We hardly need a ship, comrades. - Thor interjects - I am sure the All-Father will be generous enough to grant us the use of the Bifrost." he says, shooting a significant glance at Odin. The greybeard hardly seems in a generous mood at all, from the looks of it, but nods to keep the appearances.

"Thanks, but no thanks. - Peter replies flatly - I don't really fancy appearing on a planet without heavy weaponry and a way to get out of there quickly if the locals don't like me, not even if it is my home planet." he objects.  
"Yeah, seconded." Rocket chimes in.  
"And thirded. - Nebula agrees - I have a ship and it can carry at least Loki and Thor, if they behave." she adds.  
"My husband , Denaarian Rael and Prince J'rth can travel with me. - Helenai offers - Three small, mismatched ships are hardly going to look like an invasion fleet." she argues.

"It is settled, then. - Nova Prime summarises - When are you going to be ready to depart, warriors of the Council?" she asks.  
"The day after tomorrow? - Peter offers - It's been a tough couple of days, and we need to make sure we don't end up wasting time and effort by rushing through things." he argues.  
"I agree with your judgement, brother." Helenai declares.  
"Yeah, finally you've said something sensible, Quill." Nebula comments, heavy with sarcasm.  
"It happens to me every now and then, I can't really control it." Peter retorts, without missing a beat.  
Nebula smirks and elbows him in the ribs. It seems almost like a friendly gesture.

There is a quick, silent consultation between the members of the Council, then Derdriyu speaks.  
"The Council agrees. The expedition will depart in two days' time. - she announces officially - May the gods of your people be with you in this endeavour." she prays, lifting her hands palm up to the ceiling.

The meeting ends on that note, and everyone disbands.  
"Oh my gods! - Peter exclaims as soon as they are out of the door, jumping up and down in sheer excitement - Can you believe it?! We are going to Terra!" he continues, dragging little Groot in a sort of victory dance.  
"Is he always like this?" Saskia asks with an unimpressed frown.  
"Mostly." the Guardians reply in a chorus.  
"He's not been home since he was six. - Ronan explains - I think his enthusiasm is justified, for once." he argues.

"I'm going to have a pizza as soon as we land! - Peter announces - No, maybe a hamburger!" he corrects himself.  
"And what the hell is that?! Is it stuff that you eat?" Rocket asks, ears perking up.  
"It is the best stuff you can ever eat, trust me." Peter reveals.  
"I mean, the stuff you cook is pretty amazing, bluebell, - he adds, giving Ronan a quick kiss - but that stuff? Oh, it is something else. You have to try it to believe it. It's almost magic." he adds.  
"Like magic mushrooms? - Drax intervenes with a certain alarm - I don't think I am going to try it then. I felt quite sick last time I had them. I thought a giant boot was going to eat me." he adds thoughtfully.  
Peter stares at him in horror for a moment.  
"No, definitely not like magic mushrooms. Absolutely not like magic mushrooms." he replies.  
"Ah, that is good." Drax comments.

"We can watch Star Wars! - Peter continues, bouncing back from worried dismay to utter delight - Get more music cassettes! Even go to a concert!" he insists, nudging Ronan and Gamora. They are the only ones, apart from little Groot, who have been fully taken by his Terran music.  
"I'd love to, but I don't think the organisers will be very happy to have aliens at their event, _meri_." Ronan tries to calm him down.  
"Of course they will! We are going to Terra to help them! We are going to be heroes! - Peter retorts with the blind faith of a child - Come on, bluebell... Tell me you don't want to go to a concert of Kiss, or Rainbow, or AC/DC..." he provokes.  
"Of course I do." Ronan admits, blushing a bit. Peter teases him to no end for his preference for that loud, heavy music  
"You have odd musical tastes, Guardians. - Thor comments - Midgardian heavy metal... Tony will like you." he adds fondly.

"Well, at least they seem to have bonded already. One thing less to worry about." Saskia comments shaking her head.  
Peter, Thor and Loki in the meantime have started discussing the respective merits of pizza versus burrito, whatever they might be, while Rocket, Drax and J'rth listen with evident interest and hunger, and Ronan looks at them with fondness.  
"Yes, comrade. We are going to have enough of them quite soon." Gamora agrees with a sigh.


	42. Chapter 42

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Thanks to everybody for bering with me during the festive season and then over this few days of extra delay, and special thanks to all who subscribed and faved this fic. We have now hit 14000+ views and 101 reviews, and this is like, massive. It's probably more than all my other fics combined...  
Thanks a lot guys, you are amazing!

Thanks again to for his enthusiastic review. We are indeed going to Terra and things are going to get even more complicated as the Avengers and SHIELD are going to get involved. I am going to take a few liberties with the SHIELD bit, first because I want to keep Nick Fury in the game (I love the snarky old man) and second because I have not even finished watching S2. I am going to change things around a bit and use material from the comics to fill in the gaps.

I apologise for the shortness of the chapter, but I couldn't really help it, and at any rate, from the next chaper onwards we will get in the thick of it.

Warnings: none. It's mostly a silly introduction.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

P.S. for those interested, one of my Star War TPM fics "Breaking the Chains, Forging the Links" is going to be updated soon, after nearly a year of hiatus and is going to be updated monthly for at least a few months, so stay tuned.

* * *

"Alright, people! - Peter exclaims - Hold tight to your seats because that's it. The last jump before Terra. Aren't you excited?" he asks, turning from the command console to his comrades.

They have jumped in leaps and bounds across the most densely inhabited regions of the Cluster, and now their flotilla is parked at the edge of Kree space, a few light-minutes away from the massive fortifications of Kilda.

This is not the route that Yondu took when he picked him up, but one that High Priestess Derdriyu suggested, given the coordinates of Terra. She even gave them some sort of special clerance to get through the border beyond Kilda.  
From there, the trip to Terra is just a long, smooth hyperspace jump. His home planet, from a spacefaring point of view, is literally next door to the blue fellows. It's weird that they never visited.  
Or did they? He'd have to ask Ronan.

"I am Groot! I am Groot! I am Groot!" little Groot exclaims, bouncing up and down all over the place.  
"Yeah, yeah... it's so cool we might die." Rocket comments, faking boredom. The truth is that he can hardly wait to get there, and is almost as excited as Peter is.  
They all are.  
Only Ronan seems worried and has been so since Yondu gave them the coordinates.  
Maybe it is because they are close to his own home planet without being able to make a stop on it.  
Whatever the reason, Peter just hopes that it is not something that will bite them on the backside later.

"Cut the drama, Quill. - Nebula barks through the radio - Just initiate the bloody jump sequence, before we die of old age." she adds.  
"Alright, alright. No need to get so worked up. - Peter concedes, raising his hands even though she cannot see him - Initiating jump sequence." he announces, tapping the commands with ease born of practice.  
"Copy that. - Helenai confirms - Jumping in 30 seconds. See you on the other side." she salutes.  
"Let's hope they don't shoot us down." Nebula comments grimly.  
"Have faith, Nebula. It's going to be amazing!" Peter exclaims, just before the radio cuts into white noise and static.  
"And off we go!" he yells, holding tight to the seat as the Milano jumps with a hard wrench, accompanied by Groot's and Drax's enthusiastic laughter.

They decant just outside of the Terran atmosphere, above the African landmass, all brown-green-red against the white of the clouds and the blue of the oceans.  
"Amazing, isn't it?" Peter comments, peering through the glass.  
"It's beautiful..." Gamora whispers.  
"Up close it's even better." he promises.  
"Alright, buddies. The atmosphere is 71% nitrogen, 20% oxygen, some carbon dioxide and some other trace gases. - Rocket announces - Nothing that will kill us straight away. We should all be fine, except maybe for Ronan." he adds with a shrug.

Peter turns towards his lover, heart clenched with worry.  
"The oxygen saturation is close to the upper limits of what I can tolerate. - the Kree replies - I might be a bit dizzy for a couple of days, until I adapt. It's nothing serious, really." he reassures.  
"Alright. - Peter concedes - Let's keep it easy then."

"Hey brother! - Helenai calls through the comm - Do you have any idea of where we are supposed to land?" she asks.  
"We need to report at the SHIELD headquarters. - Thor replies for him - They are somewhere in Vinland." he adds.  
"In Finland?!" Peter repeats, a bit baffled.  
"No, Vinland. The land you call America." Thor explains.  
"That's a bit vague, don't you think, buddy?" Rocket retorts.  
"It's in North America, in the United States. - Loki clarifies - Somewhere close to the East Coast, but a good fifty miles inland at least."  
"Still not very helpful, but at least it's a start. - Rocket judges - Hey, blondie! Why don't you ring your Terran buddies up for directions?" he proposes.

On the other side there is a moment of embarrassed silence.  
"Let me guess, you don't know the frequency, right?" Rocket provokes.  
"I am not usually in need of contacting them via radio transmissions." Thor replies, apologetic and embarrassed.  
Rocket sighs and hits his palm against his forehead.  
"It's alright, we'll do a frequency sweep and find it out. - Peter says - In the meantime, we'll head towards North America, East Coast." he announces.  
"And which one of those landmasses is it supposed to be?" Saskia Rael asks, sounding already irritated.  
"The one that looks like..." Peter starts. Yeah, well, what does it look like, after all?  
"Whatever... just follow me, OK?" he amends.  
From the radio comes an indistinct grumbling that sounds like "jackass". He would bet that it was Nebula, but her and the Xandarian are more or less competing for the first prize in bitchiness.

The frequency sweep takes a while, but yields quite a few gems.  
Terran music has evolved quite a lot since he left, and in several different directions. Not all of them are pleasant, but there is no lack of dancy, uplifting tunes.  
"Hey! This stuff is good, isn't it, Groot?" he comments, nodding his head in time with the music.  
"I am Groot!" the plant-child confirms, swaying in his chair.  
"Can we focus?!" both Gamora and Nebula protest, almost in unison.  
"Yes, of course. I was just saying..." Peter retorts.

Rocket starts to fiddle again with the transciever. They surf through music of different kinds, news reports and even what sounds like the broadcast of a religious ceremony, before he gets an actual communication frequency, and by this time, they are already in the stratosphere, about 20 or 30 kilometers away from the surface of the planet.

"This is the air control of JFK Airport of New York! - a rather harried Terran shouts from the other side - You are flying unathorised in a reserved corridor! Identify yourselves immediately!" the man yells.  
"We are not making any friends here already..." Rocket comments in an undertone.  
"Let me speak with them, we'll smooth things out. I am Terran, after all." Peter declares confidently.

"Hi there, air control! - he greets warmly - I am Peter Jason Quill, from Texas, flying on the spaceship Milano. Listening on this frequency are also my sister Helenai, princess of Spartax, on the Boukefalos, and my good-sister Nebula, on the Bloodfin." he explains, hoping that it will be identification enough.  
"Sorry about barging in your corridor, but it was not signed in any way. Can you tell us where we can go to get out of the way?" he adds, when the man on the other side doesn't reply.

"S-spaceship... - the man finally mutters - Did you say spaceship?" he asks.  
"Yes, well, techically they are all shuttles, or small personal carriers. We don't carry any freight, honest. - Peter replies - Do we have to pay a landing fee for them anyway?" he asks.  
On the other side there is a lot of noise and excited voices just out of range of the transciever.  
"Shit! I guess we must have already broken some immigration law or something like that." Peter comments.  
"Hey! Air control! - Peter shouts in the radio - We're sorry if we made some sort of mess, but we didn't recieve any instructions from you when we decanted in your orbit!" he tries to explain.

"Star-Lord! - Loki calls from the Bloodfin - The Terrans don't have an orbital defence system!" he reveals.  
"What?! - Rocket exclaims - After two alien invasions they still don't have one?!"  
"Protecting Terra from Thanos is going to be harder than we anticipated." Ronan comments gravely.  
"Hey! Air control! We are not here to invade Terra, I swear! We are in a diplomatic mission from the Security Council" Peter yells into the radio. Not yet arrived, and they are already making a bloody mess.  
Perfect, just perfect.

"Man of Midgard! Master of the Airways! - Thor booms from the Bloodfin - Heed my words! I am Thor Odinsson, from the Avengers. I need you to keep your wits about you, and do us all a service." he says decisively.  
This seems to get through to the near-hysteric Terran.  
"Thor? Really?" he repeats.  
"It is me indeed. - the Asgardian confirms - Listen, Master of the Airways, you need not fear for the safety of Midgard now. My comrades come in peace. I vouch for them." he reassures.  
"So they are not here to enslave all humans, or destroy the city?" the man asks. His voice still trembles a bit, but he sounds less like he is going to have to change his pants.  
"Of course not! - Peter replies - Personally, I am here mostly to eat pizza and stock up on music cassettes." he adds flippantly.  
"Aliens like human music?!" the man interjects.  
"I am half-Terran myself. I told you: I am from Texas." Peter explains.

"When did the aliens invade Texas?!" the man exclaims.  
"Never. They did not. - Peter retorts - My father crash-landed there thirty-odd years ago, met my mum, fixed his ship, and then left. Hardly invasive." he argues.  
"Well, man, I'd say that if someone barges into my house uninvited, that's invasive enough!" the man argues, regaining a bit of his initial aggressivity.

"Man of Midgard! This is not the time to argue immigration policies. - Thor intervenes again - We nees you to put us in contact with Director Nick Fury or another high-ranking officer from SHIELD."  
"What the hell is SHIELD?!" the man protests.  
"Strategic Homeland Intervention... - Thor starts - No, wait, Intelligence maybe?" he adds, sounding unsure.  
"Loki, do you remember what it stands for?" the Asgardian asks.  
"Why should I? - the Jothunn replies - I have never been fast friends with them! Much upon the contrary!" he protests.  
Peter facepalms. He is used to Drax, Rocket and Groot screwing up like that, but at least Thor looked like he was more of an hyper-efficient warrior dude, like Ronan or Gamora.

"Hey! Terran! - Drax intervenes - Why don't you look them up on the communications directory?" he suggests.  
"Yeah, sure! - Rocket butts in, thick with sarcasm - Because the super-secret government agency will be listed on the phone book, right?"  
"It might be. - Drax insists - They are a public utility service, after all."

"Oh, Goddess in heaven! Are you all crazy, or just bloody amateurs!? Didn't you plan this fucking mission at all?" Saskia Rael blurts out, hissing like a furious cat.  
"I got you here, didn't I? - Peter retorts - I thought Thor would handle the SHIELD side of things. They are his buddies, not mine." he points out.  
"I apologise, good-brother. - Thor chimes in - I had not thought that calling upon them would be such a challenge." he explains.  
"But I am sure you can find them, Master of the Airways. - he continues, back into the radio - If you just look for them a bit harder..." he suggests.  
"I don't think there is any need. - Ronan intervenes - It looks like they have found us, instead." he announces with eerie calm, pointing towards the horizon.

"Oh, fuck!" Rocket exclaims.  
Peter turns to look through the windshield.  
Three flying humanoid figures are approaching fast and with clear aggressive intent.  
"It's Falcon, War Machine and Iron Man!" Thor announces, clearly pleased.  
Peter can't really tell which one is which, but one thing is certain, they have really sweet exoskeleton armours and are packing amazing amount of weaponry.

"Hey, Thor! - one of them exclaims, tapping into their radio channel - Did Bifrost break down, or did you just fancy taking the scenic route?" he asks.  
"Whoah! What is Rock of Ages doing here?!" another exclaims, stalling mid-air next to the Bloodfin.  
"And who is Rock of Ages supposed to be?" Peter asks himself.  
"Did anyone tell you that you are not as witty as you think yourself to be, Stark?" Loki retorts archly.  
"Ah, that explains things..." Peter thinks.

"My brother is with me, I vouch for his good behaviour. - Thor inserts himself in the incipient snark battle - I have left for Asgard seeking answers. I found them, and I bring reinforcements with me." he declares.  
"Reinforcements? Against what?" Stark asks, and even if Peter cannot see his face under the helmet, he sounds pretty worried.  
"Against Ragnarok, the end of all things."


	43. Chapter 43

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

And now we finally get to Terra, and the trouble is only starting!  
I know that Nick Fury is supposed to have retired from directing SHIELD, but I just love him as a character, so I am happily ignoring this pesky fact. I hope you will appreciate.

Warnings: politics, sarcasm, mild speciesism, mentions of alien drugs of abuse and a tiny bit of Oedipus-by-proxy.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

The three flying Terran warriors escort the ships to a secluded landing strip next to a sprawling glass-and-steel building.  
A stylised bird of prey rendered in white over black is depicted in several places. It must be the crest of the commander, or maybe of the army, Ronan muses.

Waiting on the strip is a large detachment of troops, guns primed and ready, and a small group of non-uniformed people. They must be the rest of Thor's comrades.

Peter is the first one out of the Milano as they land. He strolls down the gangway with a spring in his step and resolutely ignores the hostile looks some of the Terran soldiers are giving them, and in particular Loki.

Ronan stumbles behind him, determined to protect him if need be, even though he sincerely hopes that need not be.  
He had started feeling a bit "off" ever since Peter opened the landing bay of the Milano and Terran air started mixing with the pressurised atmosphere of the ship, and now that he is out in the open he is feeling the full effect of the excess of oxygen in his system.

He should have known better than to brave an atmosphere of 20% oxygen without a respirator.  
While not overtly toxic, that concentration is high enough to compromise quite severely his ability to function normally.  
Hell, 20% oxygen in air is one of the "smart drugs" that youngsters on Hala use for their wildly debauched parties, but since it is also used for some obscure religious rituals, it is perfectly legal. This is the only relieving bit of the whole situation. He would have hated to feel like he should arrest himself, on top of everything else.

He has been to planets with high-oxygen atmospheres before, but in all cases, he had done the smart thing, followed accepted procedures and protected himself and his comrades by slapping a bloody respirator on.  
In any other circumstance, during any other mission to Terra, he would have done the same, except that this isn't a raid or a scouting expedition, it is first and foremost a diplomatic mission, and he can hardly help foster good relations between the Council and the Terrans, if he scares them out of their wits.

Ronan is aware of the effect he normally has on people without even trying. He knows it, and he enjoys it. Being perceived as powerful and menacing is useful in a variety of circumstances, but the combination of hood, scars and respirator mask might just have tipped the scales towards outright threat, and compromised the mission even more than his temporary impairment (and there was no way he was going to lower his hood in front of strangers).  
So he endures, for the sake of diplomacy and of his own foolish vanity. Thankfully the effects should wear off in the next few days, as his body adapts and starts producing lower-affinity globins and other oxygen scavenging systems.

For now, the air feels thicker than usual, and tastes rich and sweet on his tongue. His head is light and fluffy like down. He feels dizzy and relaxed, but at the same time euphoric, as if he was heavily inhebriated.

He has experienced that feeling only once before, during a bounty hunting mission with the Guardians, when hospitality had forced them to partake of some local psychotropic concoction, and he distinctly remembers he had not liked it back then.  
He had loathed the uncontrollable, humiliating fits of giggling it had caused in him, and had been profoundly embarrassed by the untimely, inappropriate quickening of his body.

Much to his chagrin, he is already experiencing the first symptoms of the former. His throat itches and tingles with the impulse to laugh, but he represses it as hard as he can. This is neither the time nor the place for inappropriate hilarity.  
He can only hope that he will be spared from the latter.

The loss of control unnerves him, and his ability to focus is rapidly becoming impaired. If things start to go south, this might turn into a problem.  
Or maybe not. During that accursed mission, when their quarries finally attacked them, even inhebriated he had still been able to fight, albeit more messily and more sloppily than usual, and laughing all the way.  
According to Peter, it had been absolutely terrifying.  
Maybe the hardest challenge will be just to avoid embarrasing himself and the Guardians in front of their potential Terran allies. He needs to focus.

Peter stops in front of a tough-looking, dark brown-skinned Terran man, dressed in a long black coat and sporting an eyepatch. His looks and his confident, aggressive attitude identify him as a veteran and a man used to wield authority.  
The rest of the Avengers are arrayed behind him, and look at Peter with varying degrees of suspicion. Peter just pretends he doesn't see it.

"Director Nick Fury, I suppose. - he greets genially, trusting a hand towards him - I am Peter Jason Quill, son of Emperor J'son of Spartax and Meredith Quill of Texas. I am honoured to meet you." he adds with a wide smile.  
The man doesn't smile back and doesn't clasp his hand.  
"Are you the person in charge of this circus?" he barks instead, nodding his head in the general direction of the others.  
"Me? No? I am just the local guide, and not a good one at that. - Peter replies glibly - I have not been back to Terra since 1988. I am sure that Thor knows modern Terran customs much better than me, by now." he explains.  
The man doesn't seem impressed by his attempt at eliciting sympathy, and directs at him an angry one-eyed glare.

Ronan moves to stand a step behind and to the side of Peter, laying a hand on his shoulder in a clear show of support, and Gamora does the same on the other side of him.  
To be honest, Ronan feels like he needs support too, but in a more physical sense. The world is spinning and swaying slightly before him, but hopefully Fury will not notice his difficulty, and focus on the fact that he is armed and dangerous, instead. This should give him pause in case he thinks about having Peter summarily executed.

"Then who is? - Fury asks - Who do I have to thank for causing a nationwide UFO alarm by flying spaceships over New York? And who was the genius that freed that individual?" he adds, pointing a finger towards Loki.  
"Was it you, Thor? - he insists - Did you really think we wouldn't have recognised him with that blue disguise?" he asks.  
Loki flushes in embarrassment and irritation and Ronan foresees the start of a shouting match, but thankfully Helenai intervenes, defusing the situation.

"Thor is not to blame for either of them. - she declares - Both decisions were taken by a qualified majority of the Integalactic Security Council." she adds coolly.  
"The what?! - Fury exclaims - And who are you?" he soon asks, staring her down.  
"I am princess Helenai of Spartax, firstborn daughter and heir to Emperor J'son of Spartax, and Supreme Strategos of the Spartoi Army. I am here as a plenipotentiary of my father in all diplomatic and military matters. - she replies smugly - And those are my husband prince Gladiator of Shi'ar, prince J'rth of the Skrull Horde, and Denaarian Saskia Rael, plenipotentiary of the Nova Empire." she continues.  
Fury tries to look unimpressed, but fails.

"We have been sent here by the Council to open a diplomatic channel with the Terran authorities. - Saskia Rael takes over - As such, we thought that teleporting here _en masse_ without an invitation, or using a wormhole to bypass your orbital defences would not be the ideal way to start this relationship." she explains matter-of-factly.

"It's a pity you don't have any... - Rocket comments sarcastically, crossing his arms on his chest and leveling an unimpressed stare at Fury - Nor any decent orbital radio system, or even just a 'No trespass' sign! I mean, we tried to contact you from orbit, but we only managed when we were ridiculously close to one of your landing areas! What the hell do you usually do when you get foreign ships in your atmosphere?" he asks.

"I am not taking lessons in strategy from a raccoon." Fury growls, returning the glare.  
"Well, tell this to Thanos and his buddies when they come here to wipe all life off your planet! - Rocket retorts - And if you want to call someone names, try with your mother first! I am not a raccoon, whatever it might be! My name is Rocket!" he protests.  
"The little fellow has a point, Director. - Iron Man butts in - Thor has said that we should expect more trouble from space, and we are sorely unprepared on that front." he adds.

"That's an understatement, Metal Dude! Apart from us, you have been caught with your pants down at least two times, that I know of... and that's not counting the times a single ship slipped past your radars, like when Yondu picked up Peter, or when Peter and Helenai's dad crash-landed in Texas... - Rocket teases - And I bet it has been more times than that. I mean, there is a big, massive hyperspace lane from the edge of Kree space to here. I'm surprised the big blue fellows have never visited. It's like a bloody big gate among the stars, with a welcome sign stuck to the cross-beam..." he comments.

"Oh, Pama!" Ronan thinks.  
Rocket's words click in his head, the last piece of a puzzle he has been trying to piece together ever since they left Kree space.  
The Gate through the stars, that leads to the Blessed Land of ancient legend... that is what the old fortifications on Kilda are guarding!  
And the oxygen-rich Terran air... that is the reason why they use 20% oxygen and not 19% or 21% in the extatic rituals of sacred marriage!

Did Derdriyu know when she sent them to Terra?  
And what will the Terrans do when they realise that the Kree had not just been to Terra before, but had left a legacy behind them? And will the children of the Lost Ones still remember? Have they kept their vows? Will they welcome them?  
So many questions... and so much hangs in balance from their answers.  
Ronan's head spins even more, so much that he has to concentrate really hard just to stay upright.  
He falters, stumbles on his own feet.  
Peter sneaks an arm around his waist. It's the only thing that keeps him upright.

"Bluebell! Are you alright?!" Peter exclaims, voice high with worry.  
Ronan tries to reply, but it feels as if the words are stuck in his throat. He nods, but the world lurches violently with his movement, and he wobbles again, nearly taking Peter to the ground with him.

"Back off, all of you!" Fury yells. There is the sound of hurried footsteps.  
When he manages to focus again, Ronan is kneeling on the ground with Peter and Gamora at his side. The first thing he notices is that all the Terrans have moved back several steps and are looking upon him with worry and hostility.  
"What's wrong with him?" Fury asks peremptorily.  
"It's nothing..." Peter tries to minimise.  
"What is wrong with him?!" Fury yells, true to his name.  
"It's the air, alright?! - Peter yells back - There is too much fucking oxygen in the air on Terra! He is not used to it! It's not contagious, if that's what you're worried about, for the gods' sake!" he adds, clearly upset.

"Ronan are you alright? Can you breathe? - Gamora asks quietly - Please, talk to me." she pleads.  
"I'm fine... just dizzy..." Ronan manages to say, slurring slightly.  
It's not just that, though. The impulse to laugh has faded, but his senses have become even more heightened than usual.

He is hyper-aware of Gamora's and Peter's hands on him, he can feel their warmth even through his clothes, and his skin tingles pleasantly with it, and their scent... has it always been so wonderfully enticing?  
Gamora places a hand on his cheek and makes him raise his gaze to meet hers, probably to check his pupils. He bets they are fully dilated.

The light seems so very bright, almost painful like at the hospital on Spartax, but it paints a rainbow behind her, like a halo. It's beautiful, and her hand is so warm...  
He imagines he can feel every line of it, every minute whorl, as it presses against his skin. It fills him with sharp delight, as if his nerve endings were totally raw and sensitized, and he can't help but wonder how heavenly it would feel if her hands roamed all over his body and her lips pressed against his. And if her wet, soft, warm core slid upon him as she rode him... or if Peter filled him up completely with his hard, hot cock... he nearly trembles at the though of the extasy he would feel then.

Now he knows how the first generation of the Lost Ones came to be. Now he knows why Eamon and his companions were overwhelmed with lust for the sons and daughters of Ta Meri that had rescued them, and he too wants nothing better than to walk in their footsteps and lose himself in the touch of his beautiful, warm lovers...

However, he is not so far gone to just yield to that impulse yet.  
He still knows where he is, and he knows what is happening around him. He cannot give in to that sweet temptation.  
Not yet.  
There will be time for that later, now he has to focus and calm down, and possibly get out of the way for the others to be able to start the negotiations.

"Don't lie to me." Gamora chides gently.  
"I think I am high as a kite..." Ronan forces himself to admit.  
Peter starts to chuckle to himself.  
"Sorry, sorry. I know it's not funny, but it actually is a bit, you know? - he says - Do you want your respirator?" he asks, clearly worried.  
"Please." Ronan manages, fighting another wave of dizziness.  
"I am Groot." Little Groot says.  
"Thanks buddy. It's in the holding cell, somehwere." Peter instructs.  
"I am Groot." the plant-child confirms, and trots towards the Milano as fast as his lanky roots allow.

"There is nothing to be worried about. - Helenai reassures - It's a self-limiting, harmless phenomenon. He'll be alright in a few days." she tells Fury.  
"Really?! - Fury retorts sceptically - Then why are the other blue fellows fine?" he asks.  
"Because we are not Kree, you..." Nebula starts to reply, but thankfully both Loki and Thor press a hand over her mouth, preventing a diplomatic accident.  
"You and I are both brown-skinned, but you are Terran, and I am Spartoi. - Helenai explains sternly - Similarly, there are very many blue-skinned species of sentients in the Universe, sir. You'd better not make generalising assumptions. It tends to be a sensitive topic." she adds gravely.

Fury grows dark pink in the face and his jaw clenches.  
"Let's admit it is true and you have not brought a biological weapon to our planet. - Fury concedes between clenched teeth - What exactly are you doing here? What do you want from us?"  
"They are here to help us, Director Fury. - Thor intervenes - I left Midgard seeking answers about the artefacts of power we have encountered in the last few years, and I found that the situation is more dire than we thought." he explains.  
"Ah, yes. He mentioned Ragnarok. - Iron Man butts in - And that's not good, right?"  
"That's almost the definition of not good. - Peter confirms - It's not good of major, Universe-ending proportions."  
"And you are here for...?" a dark-skinned man in a grey exoskeleton suit asks.  
"To help you stop it. - Galdiator replies suavely - We have a certain experience in these things now, and from what Thor said, you have too."  
"You can bet on it, man." the grey-suited warrior replies.

"It is the opinion of the Council we represent that the best strategy to save the Universe from Thanos and his plans for Ragnarok, AKA the End, is to join forces and fight together. - Saskia continues - And since Terra seems to be a hotspot of activity, and out of the loop of the intel from the rest of the Cluster, we were sent to help." she continues.

"Help, eh? - Fury repeats - I wonder what's in it for you." he comments with a grimace.  
"Oh, nothing. - Loki mocks him - Just a trifling thing like not dying a horrible death because of someone's whims." he spits.  
"You remember that gag they put on you last time? - Fury asks - We still have it, you know? And I am still trying to find a reason why I shouldn't get the Avengers to throw you into a containment cell." he growls.  
"You can try, One-Eye." Loki defies him.  
"Oh great, he is trying to defy his old man by proxy, now..." Saskia comments, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

"Alright, let's all calm down. - she orders a moment later - That man is on probation following a regular trial from the Council. We will ensure his good behaviour, but will not tolerate undue hostility or restrictive measures towards him." she announces.  
"That man and his alien cohorts destroyed nearly half of one of our biggest cities!" Fury hisses.  
"The Council has hard evidence that attests that he is to be held only partially responsible for his actions in that situation." Saskia retorts calmly, every inch icy and collected like her mother.  
"We will be happy to share it with you, as required, but since there are some sensitive issues involved, we'd much prefer doing this somewhere more private, if you please." Helenai adds, quelling both Fury's and Loki's protests.  
"Yes, - J'rth agrees, opening his mouth for the first time since they landed - this is hardly the place to transact diplomatic business." he adds, puffing his thin chest.

Meanwhile, ignored by all, Little Groot trots back with the respirator mask held in his branches.  
"I am Groot." he says cheerfully, handing it over to Ronan  
"Thanks little one." he manages to say, then turns its attention to the dials controlling the settings.  
The atmosphere on Hala is 14% oxygen. He turns the setting to 12%, lower than usual, but still survivable for a Kree. He needs to purge himself of the excess oxygen and regain clarity, at least until the diplomatic tensions are solved. Then maybe he can enjoy a bit of "high" with his _meryw_.

The mask attaches itself to the lower part if his face when pressed against it, creating a sort of seal. His breaths are announced by an unpleasant pneumatic noise, but the worst effects of the dizziness and the skin-tingling hypersensitivity recede almost immediately. It's a relief.

"You sound like Darth Vader." Peter comments, chuckling to himself.  
"Ah yes, the villain from Star Wars... - Ronan manages to retort - We need to watch that movie, now that we are finally on Terra." he adds, rambling unnecessarily. He is not yet restored, but he is getting there.

"Hey! I never thought aliens knew Star Wars!" War Machine comments, sounding confused.  
"Aliens don't. Terran cultural productions are not very widespread in the Cluster, and it's a pity because some of your music is really pleasant. - Ronan retorts, trying to stand - But Peter is half Terran. He watched it as a child and keeps on telling us what a masterpiece it is." he explains.

"I think their intentions are sincere." a woman with flowing reddish-brown hair and a red outfit intervenes. The look in her eyes reminds him of Vesta. She might be a psychic or a clairvoyant too.  
"I cannot sense hostility or greed in them, they might be really here to help us. - she continues placidly - And you know we need help, sir. Bad times are coming. We should at least hear them out." she adds with a shudder.

A man is standing next to her, tall and muscular, clad in a skintight bodysuit and a cape. His skin is bright red, like freshly spilled Terran blood, inlaid with shiny silver metal, his eyes are clear grey, innocent and old at the same time, and one of the Infinity Gems, shining yellow, is embedded in his forehead. It is the Soul Gem, and he is its master.

Vision sets a hand on the woman's shoulder and gives her a loving smile, then pads quietly out of the Terran group and towards them, followed closely by his companion.  
They stop next to where Ronan, Peter and Gamora are standing and Vision gives them an interested, curious look.  
"I am sure I never met you before, but you feel familiar." the android says gently.

Once more, like when Loki first appeared carrying the Space Gem, Ronan is pervaded by a strong feeling of recollection and familiarity. A strange power buzzes through him for a moment as the android quests towards them, and this time, judging from their expressions, he is sure that Peter and Gamora are feeling it too, as are Rocket and Drax.  
Was their contact with the Power Gem enough to make them sensitive to the presence of all Infinity Gems?

"They taste purple, like blood and magic." the woman says enigmatically.  
The android smiles and withdraws his questing, and they move away from them and towards Thor, Gamora and Loki.  
"Hello, father. - he greets the Asgardian with another placid smile - Ultron said that he was only the beginning, and that humans were doomed. I would like to prove my half-brother wrong, with your help and that of the many worthy heroes you brought with you." he adds.  
"We will, son. - Thor reassures him, setting a hand on his shoulder - Oh, and by the way, this is Loki, my brother. He will fight with us." he announces, pointing at the Jothunn.

"Hello, uncle." Vision says, extending a hand to touch Loki's face. Loki falters between letting him and backing off, but ultimately decides to stand his ground.  
"You have one inside of yourself too. - the android says with soft wonder as soon as his fingers touch Loki's cheek - Space. You are the keeper of the Space Gem." he declares without doubt.  
"I can feel it too. - the woman concurs - It's like blue ice and the void between the stars, cold and lonely and scary. You are not scared, but you ache like a bone broken too often." she adds, placing her hand on top of Vision's hand.  
"I've seen _things_. I don't scare easily." Loki retorts, feigning calm.  
"Show them to us. Make us understand." the woman offers.  
"You will go mad if I do." the Jothunn warns.  
"I already am." the woman retorts.  
"And that makes two of us." Loki quips, but closes his eyes and lets them in.

Yellow light spreads from the android's red fingers to Loki's blue flesh, and the two gems resonate with a heart-rending harmony.  
Ronan feels it vibrate within him, and for a moment, as Vision calls forth the Space Gem to momentarily manifest on Loki's forehead, his eyes are clouded with the same purple haze as when he held the Orb, and he can feel that his companions are feeling the same, as if they were all part of one single being.

It fades in a moment, but it leaves him even more shaken than the brief resonance they experienced earlier.  
Combined with his oxygen-related problem, it translates into him being hardly able to stand.

"I don't know what the hell you're doing, junior, but sure it looks pretty." Iron Man comments.  
Vision does not reply. His eyes are closed and a small frown of concentration has appeared on his smooth, timeless face.  
"So much pain... - the woman whispers between gritted teeth - You were broken, already, but he shattered you. You were never meant to succeed, only to destroy and be destroyed in turn." she adds.  
"I know. But I am no one's tool now." Loki whispers with evident effort.

This seems to be a good answer, because Vision and the woman let him go, and the Terran nearly folds into the android's arms, drained by the effort.  
"He is no danger to us now. I can feel it." she announces feebly, letting her partner support her.  
"No danger?! - Fury exclaims - Do you know what that madman's done to New York?!" he insists.  
"I know what he has done, and I know what has been done to him to push him to it. - the woman retorts, giving Fury a creepy blank stare - I also know what he has done since, and I am telling you: he is not a danger to us, now."

The Jothunn is panting heavily from the effort of whatever mind-power the three of them have been using and possibly by what he has been coaxed to recall. He staggers on his feet and flushes darkly, embarrassed, like a cat that has broken its illusion of perfect grace.  
"I hope that you don't have to do this ever again." he comments, leaning on Nebula to stay upright. His blue skin is pale and covered by a sheen of sweat.

"I am sorry, we didn't mean to hurt you, uncle. - Vision apologises - We didn't expect it to feel so intense. It seems like the Gems respond to one another. They want to be reunited." he adds, still smiling.

"What the hell was that?! What does it mean?!" Fury asks.

"It means that we have a lot to talk about." Helenai declares grimly.


	44. Chapter 44

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

This chapter is monstrously long, I know, and very heavy with exposition, but I couldn't find a way to separate it in two shorter ones.  
Yu will notice that I have taken great liberties with canon, mixing stuff from the Agents of SHIELD series, the comics and my own inspiration to explain some background events.  
I think it works, but YMMV. Let me know.

Also, I have to announce that I will be posting next chapter in a month's time. I am getting to the end of the stuff I've written and most of my time is being taken up by "Breaking The Chains, Forging the Links". Blame "SW TFA" and the new season of Rebels for that. I got inspired.

Warnings: sarcasm, violence, exposition, speciesism.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

For once, Ronan is glad of not having been invited to the talks.  
He feels better than he did outside, but he is still nauseous, and shaky, and not totally back to his usual self. He is definitely not fit to sit at a table and engage in high-level negotiations.  
Talking politics was never his forte anyway. He was always more of a doer than of a talker.

The Guardians leave him in a sort of medical facility housed inside a reasonably sized, clumsy flying ship, in the care of some SHIELD agents, a young pink-skinned, fair-haired woman and a young pink-skinned, fair-haired man, both scientists, who keep on bickering excitedly back and forth, fast enough that he can barely understand them, another young female, slightly more bronze-than-pink-skinned and dark-haired, who keeps on staring at him, and an older, distinctively pale man dressed in a black outfit with a white shirt. He is clearly the commander of the unit, Ronan reckons.

The two young scientists have connected him to a series of medical equipments to monitor his vital signs. As far as he can tell, everything seems normal.  
All this fuss is not really warranted, unless the Terrans plan a bit of interrogation on the side, while the others are busy and his defenses are still down, and they want a way of checking if he is lying.  
It would make sense, given the way the young woman and her commander are looking at him.  
Ronan doesn't really care. He has nothing to hide about their mission to Terra, and very little to hide in general.

"You are a Kree." the man says. It is not a question and there is no trace of doubt in his voice. Either he was out there when they arrived and overheard Nebula say so, or he has encountered someone from his species before.  
He has the feeling that the second option does not bode well for the mission.

"I am." Ronan admits. It would be idiotic to do otherwise.  
"My name is Ronan. And you are?" he continues, trying to sound pleasant despite the sound of the bloody respirator.  
"Special Agent Phil Coulson. - the man replies without a trace of a smile - And these are Skye, Fitz and Simmons." he adds, pointing first at the dark-haired woman, then at the youth and then at the fair-haired woman.  
"We have questions for you." Skye announces, not very friendly.

"Ask them. I will answer them to the best of my abilities. - Ronan retorts, trying to keep his cool and appear cooperative towards the Terrans - And before you ask, no. These are not tribal markings. A bastard with a blowtorch did this to me two weeks ago." he clarifies, pointing at the scars on his face.  
Simmons and Skye make soft sounds of distress, and Fitz looks like he is going to throw up. Only Coulson seems unaffected.  
"Only two weeks?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.  
"I heal fast." Ronan retorts.  
"I would have thought so. - Coulson comments - So you that's your first time on Earth, right?" he asks.  
The Kree nods.  
"You seem to know a lot about it, though. Star Wars, rock music, Ultron, the Svartalfar... and you speak very good English." Skye comments.  
"About the former two, it's my boyfriend Peter's fault. Same for the language. He taught all the team. - Ronan confesses with a smile, even though he knows it will be invisible below the mask - He left the planet as a child, but held onto many Terran customs. And the latter two incidents were openly discussed at the Council after Thor's arrival." he adds with a shrug.

"I have overheard one of your team-mates saying that there is a hyperlane connecting your system to ours. - Fitz chimes in - Did you really travel at curvature speed?" he asks.  
"We did. It only took a few hours from Kilda to here." Ronan replies.  
"Wow! This is... amazing! - he sighs - What does your ship run on? It's nuclear power, isn't it? A fusion reactor? Dark matter annihilation? Quantic fuel? Oh God, if I could just put my hands on that engine..." the young scientist rambles on enthusiatically.  
"Eh, I don't know precisely how an hyper-drive works, I am not an engineer, but I am sure that if you ask nicely, Peter and Rocket will let you inspect it. - Ronan replies, still trying to be friendly - They will probably help you build your own, if Thanos gives us enough time before striking again." he adds.

"Only a few hours. - Coulson repeats, inserting himself in the subsequent pause - Hardly a long time to cover what, a few hundreds of thousands of light-years?" he comments.  
"More or less." Ronan agrees.  
He has conducted enough interrogations to know what game Coulson is playing, but he has no way of leading him off the trail without seeming obviously suspicious.  
"I would bet that shortcuts like that come quite handy to a space-faring civilisation."Coulson insists.  
"They speed up commerce and communications quite a lot." Ronan confirms.  
"One would hardly think it would be left unused." Skye joins in.  
"Unless there was a good reason to do so. - Ronan retorts - Unless it had been forbidden by law and custom for the last few thousand years. There are well-armed fortresses guarding the Gate. We had to seek special clearance from the Head of the Ruling Council to get through." he adds pointedly.  
"Where there is a will there is always a way. - Coulson insists - A single ship can find a way to get through undetected where a fleet would not, especially if the authorities turn a little bit of a blind eye on it." he insinuates.  
"Not on my watch." Ronan retorts decisively. What are they aiming at?

"What do you mean?" Skye asks.  
"I mean that until recently I was the Supreme Accuser of the Kree. It was my responsability to ensure that the law was not flouted. - he declares angrily, almost growling - I took that responsability very seriously, and I can assure you that my successor is equally irreprehensible."  
"Oh really?! - Coulson asks, nearly yelling and slamming a hand on the table where all of Fitz's and Simmons' tools are laid out - Because about a year and a half ago we arrested one of you blue-skinned aliens as he was sneaking around on this planet!" he reveals, now yelling and flushing darkly.

Ronan blinks in confusion, feeling like his control over the situation is slipping like sand between his fingers.  
"Really?" he stammers.  
"Yeah, really." Skye reaffirms.  
"He must have slipped through the cracks during the disturbances after the vote for the treaty, or when the government fell at the end of the war, then. - Ronan whispers quietly, looking in the distance - It was a complicated period for my people. There was rioting in the streets, and I... I abandoned my post in a quest for retribution. He could have profited from the confusion to slip away unnoticed." he argues, looking back at Coulson.  
"That sounds very convenient." the Terran comments with a sneer.  
"That is the truth. The Gate was supposed to be left sealed, and what lay beyond it was supposed to be left untouched until the time came. - Ronan retorts severely. - That man has committed a heinous crime, a sacrilege almost, and if you hand him over to the Accusers, he will be severely punished according to our laws." he declares.  
Shanleigh would take care of it swiftly and definitively.

"Sorry, pal, but I don't believe a word of what you say. - Coulson retorts with an unpleasant smirk - Your compatriot talked to us, before one of his machines gave him retrograde amnesia. And do you know what he said?" he asks softly.  
"How would I know what that criminal said?" Ronan throws back at him, as haughtily as he can manage under present circumstances.  
"Do you know what the Inhuman Program is?" Skye intervenes, also bristling with anger.  
"I have no clue." Ronan retorts sincerely.  
"Liar!" Coulson yells, slamming his hand on the table again.  
In the heat of the moment, he must catch the edge of some tool left on the table. He yelps and clenches his other hand over the wound in his palm. Blue blood drips from between his fingers.  
"Damn!" the man swears, eyes wide in dismay.  
"Sir!" Skye exclaims, torn between jumping to the rescue and moving away from a possible contamination.

Ronan doesn't let her decide. He rises from the chair, unheeding of the various sensors stuck to his person, and grabs Coulson's arm before anyone else in the room can react.  
"You are one of them..." he says, with soft wonder, raising his wounded hand to his eye level.  
"One of what?" Skye asks, very confused and nearly panicky.  
"One of the Lost Ones. - Ronan replies - The descendants of the ones who chose to stay behind." he adds.  
"What are you talking about?!" Coulson exclaims, trying to free his hand.  
"What exactly did the man you captured tell you about his reasons for being here?" Ronan asks, letting the man go.  
"He told us that he had come to deal with the property of the Kree Empire on this planet. - Skye replies, full of hostility - And he meant it as in people. Humans that the Kree Empire had re-engineered to fight their wars. Inhumans. People like me." she reveals.

The air resonates oddly, and suddenly Ronan is flying across the room, hit by a kinetic blast that slams him into the back wall.  
"Well, I am not anyone's slave or weapon! And neither is my CO!" she adds, aiming another kinetic blast at him.  
Ronan narrowly dodges it and rolls away, thinking furiously of a way to defuse the situation without causing any harm to the two Lost Ones, or to the two Terrans, who at least had the sense to get some cover in the meantime.

"And if you blue bastards think that you can come here and play the evil alien overlords or dispose of us... - Skye continues to rant, harrying him with more kinetic bolts - you are in for a big surprise!" she adds. The floor starts trembling under Ronan's feet, and he is hit full-on by the next bolt as he fails to dodge it.  
Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all, he thinks, shaking his head to clear it.

He only manages to avoid being kicked in the head by Coulson because he sees the man's reflection in one of the screens.  
The Kree grabs the man's leg and kicks his support foot from under him, letting him fall on his back, then rolls away, avoiding another attack from Skye.

"That criminal lied to you. - he says, trying to get close to her - My people doesn't wish you any harm, I swear!" he adds.  
"Yes, of course! Because people get genetically engineered as a favour!" Skye retorts sarcastically.  
Ronan is on the verge of replying that yes, actually they do, where he is from, but Coulson has a second wind, and tries to grab him from behind.  
His heightened reflexes allow him to turn in the nick of time and grab the man's leading arm and his collar. A twist of his hips and a push, and the man is thrown forward, on top of Skye. The two land in a tangle of limbs and stay down.

"Will you calm down a moment, or do I have to beat some sense into your heads?!" he pants. The lower oxygen concentration has cleared his head, the adrenaline has done the rest, and now his body is protesting that the oxygen is actually too low.

He makes to adjust the dial, but two more Terrans pour into the room, a tall, powerful dark-skinned male and a short but toned, dark-haired woman.  
The man pulls out some sort of gun, while the woman grabs a piece of metal tubing and sinks into a fighting stance.  
Ronan curses under his breath. There is no time to adjust the oxygen, and no way he can fight any longer like that.  
Damn.

He tears the respirator off his face and lets it fall to the ground as he lunges towards the man with the gun. The Terran's reflexes are exceptionally good, and he manages to fire, but he is already too close to do any damage.  
Ronan twists the gun out of his hands, grabs his wrist and collar and slams him into the wall, not as hard as he can, but hard enough to make him fall unconscious.  
"Tripp!" the woman yells, and launches herself at him.  
Her strikes are precise and powerful, she is superbly trained, clearly a great warrior of her people, while he is dizzy and queasy again, and is trying his hardest not to hurt them too much.  
It is a close fight, and he feels that bloody pipe knocking against his bones a few times more than he would have liked to, before he can knock her unconscious with a blow to the head.

Ronan stops, panting heavily, and leans on the wall for support until the world stops spinning and his stomach stops heaving.  
So much for his diplomatic efforts, he thinks.  
Something stirs behind him.  
Thinking it might be the two Lost Ones or Tripp, Ronan turns, ready to fight again, only to find the young male scientist taking a body-shot at him with a gun.

He braces for pain, cursing himself for having dismissed them as harmless. Hopefully the projectile will miss his vitals, he prays, otherwise he will be in a very bad spot, and the Council's mission on Terra will be finished before it even starts.  
The projectile hits him in the upper chest, propelling him against the wall. Pain blooms, but Ronan has been shot enough times to know that something is not quite right. The slug has impacted hard, but has not penetrated, even if he is not wearing any armour.  
"Has this kid just taken a shot at me with non-lethal ammo?" he asks himself, baffled and irritated.

He tries to go for a lunge towards the Terran to seize that bloody gun and make him eat it, but his body suddenly seizes up and becomes unresponsive.  
Unconsciousness beckons, and his vision tunnels. He falls to his knees, somehow manages to brace a hand on the floor to avoid smacking his face on it, and as suddenly as it has come, the malaise passes, and he is back in control (more or less) of himself.  
He pulls himself to his feet and swipes the gun out of the sneaky Terran's grasp. Its body is some sort of plastic.  
"Good." he thinks, and makes a deliberate show of breaking it with his bare hands.

The Terran scientists look suitably terrified. He is blocking their way to the exit, and they know they are no match for him, but the man is still trying to protect his female companion, and even takes a clumsy fighting stance, even though he is pale as a sheet of paper and is trembling all over.  
"Don't ever do this again." Ronan warns, throwing the pieces of the gun at the Terran's feet.

As the adrenaline recedes, he starts to feel all the bruises he has accumulated in the brief fight, and once more a dizzy spell overcomes him. Surely whatever poison he has been injected with isn't helping either.  
He backs away from them and lets himself slide to the ground, with his back against the wall, hoping that the world will stop spinning.

"Are you alright?" Simmons asks. She looks still very frightened, but she inches closer to him when he doesn't reply immediately.  
"Of course not! Otherwise why would I have been in an infirmary in the first place?!" Ronan barks, with as much bite as he can manage considering his situation.  
Will that man, Fury believe that he had acted in self-defence, or will this misadventure cause the diplomatic accident that they have been so desperately trying to avoid?

"Look, I am very, very sorry about what Skye did. - Simmons says, hesitantly pushing his mask towards him - The issue is a bit... personal for her." She adds with a forced smile.  
"She is one of the Lost Ones." Ronan comments wearily.  
"Your compatriot called them Inhumans, and they called themselves like that." Fitz points out.  
"That must be a new cultural development, then. - Ronan pants, replacing the mask over his mouth and nose - We never even called them Inhumans, back in the day. Their name in our language has been Lost Ones ever since we left this planet, and before that their name was Gifted." he adds, casting a wistful look at Skye and Coulson, who are now starting to stir. The Kree might just have lost them again, if he doesn't find a way of fixing things.

"You might want to check on them. - he adds - I might have hit them harder than I meant to." he admits ruefully.  
"You were holding back?!" Fitz exclaims, eyes wide in a mixture of worry and admiration.  
"I told you, my intentions here are completely peaceful." Ronan insists, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning his head against the wall.  
The two scientists exchange a brief look and set out to work, checking the vital signs and general state of their health.  
"Tripp and May will have a nasty headache and a few bruises, but they are mostly fine. - Simmons announces with evident relief - And Skye..."  
"Ouch!" Skye exclaims, sitting up all of a sudden when Simmons prods her during her examination.

The young woman looks none worse for the wear. She looks around the semi-destroyed lab with a worried expression, then her eyes alight on him and an angry glint appears in her eyes.  
"Won't you even let me explain before deciding that I am wrong, evil and a threat to be eliminated?" Ronan asks her. The irony of the situation is not lost on him.  
"Yes, sure! - Skye retorts sarcastically - I am sure there is a very good explanation for the fact that your people has come to our planet to enslave humans and use them as lab rats to further their purposes! And another really good one for why you wanted to kill us all." she adds with fake cheerfulness.  
"We didn't come here to enslave or kill anyone." Ronan retorts.  
"Of course. You just want to keep us as pets, I suppose." Skye retorts, crossing her arms on her chest.

Ronan sighs. It is going to be harder than he expected.  
"Listen, mari-anni, if you don't want to hear me out, it is within your rights, but if you do, you should at least use me the courtesy to let me speak without interruptions!" he chides, unconsciously slipping back in the demeanour he used to use with his trainees.  
"Oh yes, we can't be impolite to colonialist aliens..." Skye insists.  
"Stop it, Skye. Let him talk." Coulson intervenes, rubbing his head wearily. He has just managed to pull himself from the floor, and looks a bit disoriented still. A large blue bruise is spreading on the side of his head, and blue blood is crusted on his hand, signalling his hybrid status for all to see.  
"But, sir...!" she she protests.  
"No buts. Let him talk." Coulson insists.  
"Thank you, sir." Ronan acknowledges him with a nod.

"So, I don't know exactly what my still unidentified compatriot has told you, but as far as I know, the Kree first came to this planet by chance." he narrates.  
"It happened a few thousands of year ago. My people had just mastered the technology for hyperspace travel and after enthusiastically exploring the confines of our Galaxy, were moving to poke around in the next." he continues.

"Which one is your Galaxy?" Fitz asks.  
"We call it the Great Cloud. I have no idea what you call it." Ronan replies.  
"There is a Galaxy we call the Greater Magellanic Cloud. - the young scientist points out, calling up a sort of rudimental star map on the biggest screen in the lab - It's that one." he adds, indicating it on the map.  
"It's the very same. - Ronan agrees, pleased and surprised that the Terrans even know about it. - We were the only technologically advanced species in it, at the time. But when we started exploring the Spiral, your Galaxy, we found the Skrull already waiting for us." he explains.  
"They are from our Galaxy too?" Fitz asks, and his eyes go wide in surprise.  
Ronan shakes his head. " No, they are from the other big Spiral Galaxy at the other end of the Cluster, like the Xandarians. They were also passing by." he explains.

"And what happened then?" Coulson intervenes.  
"We went to war over control of the hyperspace routes. - Ronan retorts - The war in itself is not really important, though. What matters is that during this war one of our warships was lost. Its name was the Eye of Pama and its commander was Eamon the Accuser. The Skrull caught it by surprise and managed to damage it heavily, just outside your system. It ended up crash-landing on the planet you know as Terra." he narrates.

"Wow! That must have hurt!" Fitz comments.  
"I am sure it did. Most of the crew was lost in the landing, but about a hundred, including the commander, survived." Ronan says.  
"A hundred seems like a lot. - Skye protests - How many people did the ship carry, to begin with?" she asks, frowning in suspicion.  
"About three thousand. - Ronan explains, much to the Terrans' shock - It was a carrier-destroyer, one of the biggest ships of the fleet." he explains calmly.

"And just how big is that?" Coulson intervenes.  
The Kree thinks about it for a moment, trying to figure out the conversion into the Terran system of measurements.  
"I am not sure if they were built exactly to the same model so long ago, but the Dark Aster, the one I commanded until recently, was about three miles wide and half a mile long, excluding the stabilisation tail." he replies finally.

Fitz's mouth and eyes fall open in utter astonishment, and he makes a sound of excitement and delight.  
"Ah! But that's huge! - he comments - How does it even stay in the air?" he asks.  
"They're not actually made for sub-atmospheric flight, but for deep-space operations and fleet deployment. - Ronan reveals - As soon as they enter a gravity well, they have the unfortunate tendency to sink like stones, if one is not careful about keeping them perfectly in orbit." he adds ruefully.

"And what happened to yours?" Fitz asks.  
"I deliberately crash-landed it on a planet during a battle." Ronan confesses.  
"And you were still on it?!" Simmons exclaims in horror, covering her mouth with a hand.  
Ronan nods.  
"That's a bit desperate." Skye comments, unimpressed.  
"It was. - he confirms with a grimace - I made it to the ground with barely a scratch, but I was wielding one of the Infinity Gems at the time, so I suppose Eamon and his brave few must have been quite a bit more damaged, when the Eye landed." he adds.

"You had one of the Gems?!" Coulson exclaims, blinking in confusion. The rest seem equally surprised, or even slightly terrified.  
"I did, the Gem of Power. I had it for a while, then the Guardians claimed it, and now the Council has it in custody. - he explains - But that is a bit beside the point of the discussion, I think." he argues.  
"The hell it is! - Skye protests - Those things are at the center of everything bad that has happened lately."  
"And likely of everything bad that is going to happen in the near future." Ronan admits.

"So how did it feel, holding one of them?" Fitz asks, his odd accent getting thicker with excitement.  
Ronan closes his eyes for a moment, lost in recollection.  
"Like holding the power of a thousand suns in the palm of your hand, full of power, and hunger, and possibilities. Like it was going to tear me apart and scatter me throughout the Universe, if I couldn't contain it somehow. - he whispers, feeling a shiver go through him at the memory and not out of fear - That thing has a tendency to consume all sorts of organic matter, including people." he adds, pushing his inconvenient feelings aside.

"Wow! It sounds like it should come with an health and safety warning! - Skye exclaims - How did you contain it?" she asks.  
"I embedded into my weapon of office. It insulated me from its hunger, but still let me feel its power. I felt invincible. I was a bit drunk on the feeling. - Ronan confesses, looking down in embarrassment - Peter and the others managed to tame it by taking its power within themselves and spreading it between them, instead. It worked beautifully." he adds.  
At the moment he had been too angry, confused and wary to appreciate it, but, circumfused by that purple light, they had looked ethereal and untouchable, like earthbound gods.

"And what did they do with it?" Skye insists.  
"They blasted me across the planet. I am still not sure about how I managed to survive." Ronan replies matter-of-factly.  
The warriors of SHIELD stare at him in awestruck silence for a long moment, then Skye lets out a low whistle.  
"That must have been a lovers' spat and some..." she comments.  
"We were not together at the time." Ronan objects.  
"So you hooked up with him after he nearly killed you?!" she exclaims, looking at him with a perplexed look on her admittedly pretty face.  
"I started it, they just acted in self-defense. I deserved it." Ronan admits.

Skye opens her mouth to speak, but Ronan doesn't let her voice her next question.  
"Sorry, mari-anni, but it's no use for you to press on this topic. Whatever you might want to ask, I am not going to oblige you with a reply. - he declares, raising a hand in clear command - The fact that you and your superior officer are Lost Ones makes us kin, in a distant sort of way, but I do not know you anywhere near enough to be comfortable with discussing my private life with you." he adds, politely but firmly.  
Apologies tumble out of the girl's mouth and her cheeks colour bright pink in embarrassment.

"Kin? How?" Coulson asks instead. He doesn't seem like the sort of person that lets himself be distracted from his objective. He would have made a good Accuser back home.  
"Because the Lost Ones descend from a Terran/Kree mixed lineage. Didn't your parents tell you?" Ronan replies, feeling like he is stating the obvious. For him it is a commonplace semi-legendary piece of history, and so it should be to the Lost Ones, but for some reason these two don't seem to know anything about their origins.

"I was given in foster care. I found out about my origins only recently." Skye declares, shrugging her shoulders and looking away. There is more to it than that, it is clear, but it is also clear that it is painful.  
Ronan leaves it be. if everything goes well, there will be time for more explanantions.  
"And my situation in even more complicated. - Coulson adds - Assume that we don't know anything at all on the subject." he advises.  
The Kree nods in agreement. It is a sensible proposition.

"Alright. As I was saying before the conversation was derailed, Eamon and his companion crashed on Terra, in a desert situated in the landmass you now call Africa. - he narrates - They were wounded, and, judging from my own personal experience, must have been quite debilitated by the excess of oxygen in the atmosphere. Most of their equipment had been destroyed or severely damaged, and they had no way to contact the rest of the fleet, so they set out to find a more hospitable place. Eventually, some of them reached fertile land and the banks of a wide river. It was a land called Ta Meri, the Blessed Land, and sentient, primitive people inhabited it, who called themselves Romw." he reveals.

"Uhmmm... the name of the place seems familiar, somehow. - Simmons comments - And how long ago did this happen?" she asks, tapping her handheld terminal.  
"About seven thousand years ago, give or take a couple of centuries." Ronan replies.  
"The end of the Neolithic, yes... - she comments to herself - Oh, hang on. There I have it! Apparently Ta Meri is one of the ancient egyptian names for, well, Ancient Egypt." she reveals.

"Wow! - Skye exclaims - So are you telling me that the old conspiracy theory that the pyramids were built by aliens is actually true?" she asks, shaking her head in puzzlement.  
"The pyramids were built approximately five thousand years ago. - Simmons points out - Unless they remained until then, the answers is still no." she clarifies.  
Skye looks at Ronan with an expectant air.  
"Sorry, but no. We stayed for less than two centuries, built very little and tore down almost everything when we left." the Kree says.  
Skye pouts and makes a face.  
"Dang! That would have been so cool!" she mutters to herself. Ronan doesn't quite know what to say about it.  
"So Ta Meri endured after we left?" he asks?  
"For about another five thousand years. - Simmons reassures him - But, please, go on, I didn't mean to derail." she adds flashing him a brief smile.

Ronan addresses her a nod of acknowledgement and continues his explanation. He has been talking so much that he is starting to feel thirsty, but it is a story they need to hear in full. There will be time for rest later, hopefully.  
"Right, so the people of Ta Meri, took the survivors from the Eye of Pama in, sheltered and nursed them back to health. Eamon and his people were greateful. They saw that the people of Ta Meri were beautiful to behold, and that Ma'at dwelled in their hearts..."

"What is Ma'at?" Skye asks, raising her hand like a schoolgirl.  
"It's complicated to explain. As far as I know, Terran doesn't have an equivalent concept." Ronan replies.  
"English, you mean?" the girl retorts.  
"Do you speak more than one language on this planet?" Ronan asks, quite surprised. Her look is quite eloquent.  
"Nevermind. - Ronan dismisses the subject - As we understand it, Ma'at is a composite of your concepts of justice, truth and balance. It is one of the key values of our culture, and according to the historical accounts, a smilar concept was the centrepoint of the culture of Ta Meri. Despite the differences in thechology, our cultures were quite similar, and that smoothed things out considerably." he sums up.

"So there was no violence?." Fitz asks.  
"None at all. The survivors peacefully integrated into the social structure of their hosts. They... well, they intermarried and... had quite a lot of children, and thus the first generation of the Lost Ones was born." he reveals hurriedly, forgoing all the formular descriptions of the joy and delight they derived from each other and from their joinings.

"And then what? - Skye asks - Happy ever after?"  
"Not quite. - Ronan admits - Eamon himself was quite happy to stay forever in Ta Meri, but others wanted to go back. Somehow they managed to rig up a beacon, and, after about ten years the signal was finally picked up by the fleet as it passed by Terra. More Kree ships landed, and Eamon, who had been chosen as divine king of Ta Meri welcomed them. Some Kree left, some stayed. Eamon himself had no wish to leave. He had taken a Romet woman called Mut as a wife, and loved her dearly. She wouldn't have survived the lower oxygen and higher gravity of his home planet, and his children wouldn't have either." he explains.  
"That's very romantic." Simmons comments.

"Terra, or the Blessed Land as we calles it back then, became a port of call for the fleet for the next hundred years, and as the years passed by, more Kree took Romw people as their spouses. Other tribes became our allies and Ta Meri grew in power. The Lost Ones grew in number, and many of them wished to travel the Universe and fight alongside the Kree, but many were too weak and fragile to do so. - Ronan continues, smiling at her for the compliment, even though he knows he is but a poor narrator - At that time, however, our scientists had already invented the the technology required to manipulate genomes safely and efficiently. We had eliminated most genetic diseases from our own species, and even introduced a few new genes to ensure that we could survive on foreign planets. Being chosen for genetic modification was a great honour among us." he explains.

"So you 'fixed' the Lost Ones?" Coulson asks with a frown.  
"Our scientists gave them the possibility to follow their dreams. - he corrects - They were successfully enhanced and they fought with us, with valour and honour, like our equals, because that's what they were. Different, but the same." he adds proudly.

"That initial success made us bold and we started to realise that a great boon had come from the tragedy of the Eye. - he continues after a pause -  
The Kree genome is notoriously stable and rejects most improvements, but the Romw genome was a lot more malleable than ours, and the scientists soon discovered that they could modify it a lot more extensively." he continues.

"And why would they?" Coulson asks, still very suspicious.  
"I told you that our genome is very stable, didn't I? - Ronan retorts - We adapted to a hostile environment, with high ambient radiation. Our mutation rate is very slow, and the scientists predicted that we would be going towards an evolutionary dead-end within a few thousand years if we didn't find a solution." he explains.

"You used the Lost Ones to introduce new genes in your pool!" Simmons exclaims, all happy about having figured it out first.  
"More or less. - Ronan admits - We knew that we could intermarry with Romw and mixed-bloods, and we hoped that the new genes could trickle in our pool by marriage. The Lost Ones and even a few full-blooded Romw  
volunteered for the engineering. They saw us as god-like and they wanted to be like us, they wanted to be special."

"And you let them." Coulson chimes in.  
"We did. There was a man who sprouted wings, another one who gained some sort of plant telepathy, a girl who could control fire... They were heroes to their people and to ours." he narrates from memory. He still remembers reading their stories as a child, before the Fire. They uses to be among his favourite heroes.

"Your friend called us weapons and abominations" Skye comments.  
"He is not my friend. - Ronan retorts - But you are not wrong. There were some Kree on Terra and back home who didn't see things quite the same way as Eamon and his men." he reveals grimly.

"Some people viewed Romw and Lost Ones with contempt, like savages and inferiors that could and should be exploited. - he admits - We held a few other populations vassal, back then, but we treated them with honour. We provided as best as we could for those we were responsible for, and this is also Ma'at. They wanted slaves, instead, to be treated like little more than animals, so they befriended other tribes with guile and deceit or just plain kidnapped however many Terrans they wanted, and experimented on them, grievously violating Ma'at in order to obtain what they wanted." he explains

A bit like he had done during the war, he muses ruefully. As a child, when he read the saga of the Lost Ones and the other stories of heroic deeds performed in the name of Ma'at, he would have never thought he would be the villain of his own story.

"That sounds more like what that other guy said." Skye comments with a grimace.  
"Presenting a partial truth is often easier than lying outright. - Ronan offers - Some of our people caused great harm to yours, using them against their will and changing them with no respect for their wishes and no regard for their livelihood." he has no qualms in admitting. This is history and it is of no use to anyone, if it is manipulated.

"They made them into weapons." Skye insists.  
"They did. - Ronan agrees - At the time the Empire was not yet fully centralised, and each noble House had a fair amount of autonomy and vast holdings. Eamon and his allies, and then their descendants had obtained glory and honour thanks to their alliance with Romw and their Gifted offspring. The betrayers obtained power and riches from their crimes, but while loyalty and kinship are lasting, control is easily lost." he continues.

"The slaves rose against their masters." Coulson concludes for him.  
"Precisely. Their masters had made them strong and powerful to fight their wars and work their mines and fields, and the slaves used that power to win back their freedom. - Ronan confirms - Initially, aided by surprise and the arrogance of their masters they prevailed. They broke their chains and went out into the world, finally free, but the slave-masters went in pursuit and tried to re-capture or slaughter them, like diseased cattle. A bitter war erupted, and when Eamon's people got wind of it and of what had caused it, they sided with the Inhumans against their kinspeople." he narrates.  
His audience seems totally captivated by his tale, as if he was a famous bard. They listen intently and quietly, emotions playing on their pinkish faces. It feels slightly surreal.

"A great civil war erupted among the Kree, between those who stood with Ma'at and those who had become greedy for power and blood. Many lives were lost on both sides. - he narrates, translating as best as he can from the snippets of epic he remembers - In the end Ma'at prevailed and the people responsible for the horrors of slavery and torture were brought to justice, but the times of trouble were not over yet." he declares, making a pause to let the information sink in their minds.

"And why was that?" Skye asks, looking upset.  
"Because the actions of the slavers had upset Ma'at more profoundly than their vanquishers thought, spreading confusion, mistrust and suspicion among all people. - Ronan explains - Eamon's grandson, the new king of Ta Meri, welcomed the ex-slaves into his tribe, he called them brothers and sisters, and while some gladly accepted that offer, some were suspicious of the closeness between the Gifted and their Kree allies and kin, fearing that they would end up exchanging one master for another, so they went into hiding. Among the Kree Ruling Council, instead, some had always harboured fears that the Gifted would grow too powerful and overthrow the Kree colonists."

"Would they have been able to?" Ward asks.  
"Probably, if they had put their minds to it. - Ronan replies with a shrug - Ta Meri was a small, peaceful trading outpost and waystation, barely fortified, and so were most of the other installations we built on Terra. Gifted and Terrans outnumbered us by a large margin. Until then, it had survived on trust and goodwill, but the Council was determined not to lose their foothold on your planet, and sent more soldiers, and not the veterans who had fought alongside the Gifted, but colonial troops." he adds.

"I'd bet that it didn't help with the trust issues of the Gifted." Skye comments.  
"And you'd win, mari-anni. - Ronan acquiesces - The Gifted of Ta Meri were outraged by the Council's suspicions: they had fought the Empire's wars and considered themselves full citizens, and now the Empire was treating them like potential enemies. It put their whole identity and history in question. And as for the Terrans, Romw and not, they had seen what those criminals had done and had grown fearful of us. We could harm them, we had already done it, and now there were more soldiers coming, more strangers who could harm them..." he explains.

"It sounds like a royal clusterfuck." Coulson chips in.  
Ronan doesn't quite know what the word means, but assuming that anything ending in "-fuck" must not be a good thing, he nods.

"The Council pushed, and Ta Meri pushed back, defending its autonomy. - he narrates - The situation became more and more tense, and people started to perform acts of disobedience and sabotage against the colonial troops. And finally the Great Snake came, and with him disaster." he adds.

"Who is this guy?" Skye asks.  
"He was a warlord of the Gifted, son of ex-slaves who had gone into hiding. - Ronan replies - No one knows what his real name was or what were his powers. He appeared seemingly out of thin air and proclaimed himself saviour of the Blessed Land and scourge of invaders and blood-traitors. By the latter he meant the Gifted of Ta Meri, the Romw and their Terran allies." he explains.

"That guy sounds nasty, like an ancient Bin Laden." Simmons comments.  
Ronan ignores the obscure cultural reference and focuses on the rest, nodding to acknowledge her remark.

"He was, by all accounts, thirsty for power and blood. He had grown up in cruelty and injustice, and he did not know a different way to live. We made him as he was, and he wanted to unmake us for that. - he confirms - He wanted to rule over the Gifted, with the Terrans as vassals, and he wanted every single Kree in the Blessed Land dead. He saw all of us as guilty of the suffering of his people, even though the people responsible for it had been punished to the fullest extent of the law, so he started to target the settlements, using hit-and-run tactics." he adds.

"Typical... - both Coulson and Skye sneer - We know the style." the woman adds.  
"Yes, I imagine you do. - Ronan comments to the two hardened warriors - So, to cut a very long story short, the Great Snake and his men killed a great number of people, mostly civilians, some quite horrifically to spread terror throughout the colony, and lower the morale of the troops. Now, the king of Ta Meri had two brave sons: one was the strongest warrior of the Blessed Lands, the other was the wisest..." he narrates.

"What is this, a fairytale?" Skye protests.  
"No, it is an epic poem. Usually it takes seven nights for a full recitation. - Ronan retorts, ignoring the sarcasm - I am summarising it as much as possible, but we're still talking about a war that spanned generations." he explains.  
"Alright, sorry. - she apologises - Go on." she encourages him.

Ronan nods in acknowledgement and presses on, eager to get to the end of his narrative and get some actual information from his counterparts.  
"Right, so the two princes called all the commanders of Ta Meri and told them that to truly solve the problem, without creating more suspicion and fear, the Great Snake would have to be dealt with by the Gifted, without any intervention from the Kree. - he continues - The commanders were sceptical at first, but eventually agreed, and the two princes lead their army against the hideouts of the tyrant, leaving the Kree to defend the colony. In the meantime, however, word of the new conflict had reached the Council, and some took the rise of the Great Snake as the last straw, and decided to terminate the whole Ta Meri colony project."

"Terminate? That sounds a bit radical and definitive, doesn't it?" Skye comments, her forehead creased with worry.  
"Yes, mari-anni, it does, and it was. - Ronan agrees - The Ruling Council sent the Devourer, another carrier-destroyer, to the Blessed Land, and ordered the Kree population to evacuate."  
"They wanted to leave the Gifted behind." Coulson comments.  
"They wanted to launch an orbital bombardment and destroy the colony and all the Gifted and Romw with it." Ronan retorts.  
"What?!" all the SHIELD members exclaim in unison.  
" How could they even think about doing something like this?!" Skye adds, totally outraged.  
"They were afraid. Afraid that the much more fertile Gifted would one day supplant us, afraid of relinquishing their dominant position and admit once and for all that the Gifted stood on equal footing with us. - Ronan replies quietly - They let their fear override their sense of Ma'at, and once you let go of that, few things seem completely out of bounds." he adds.  
He knows the feeling. He has been there before.

"That's no excuse." Skye retorts.  
"No, mari-anni, it is not. - he admits - But not all of my people were like that. Many contested that heartless order and the Kree from the colony fought for their allies and kin, even if that meant going against their own government and their own species." he explains.  
"Did they?" Coulson asks.  
"There are still Gifted on Terra, aren't there? - Ronan retorts - The colonials didn't have any ship that could take on the Devourer, so they pretended to comply with the evacuation order, and once they got on the ship, they killed the commanding officers and hijacked it, turning it towards Hala, our capital. There, part of the population revolted and supported the colonials and..."  
"Let me guess, there was a civil war." Coulson chimes in with a grimace.  
"That was not a hard guess to make. - Ronan points out - It was a mess, make no mistake, and at the end, the only route to some sort of peace was a compromise. The Kree government would leave the Gifted alone, but all Kree would have to leave the Blessed Lands and take all their ships, technology and possessions with them, effectively leaving the Gifted stranded on a primitive planet with no way of leaving it."

"So that's what you did." Coulson intervenes, crossing his arms on his chest.  
"We did. We had no choice. - Ronan confirms - All full-blooded Kree were required to leave. Many were forced to leave their Romw spouses and their children behind, entire clans were broken apart. We destroyed most of what we had built, leaving only few hidden installations to allow the Lost Ones to take shelter and remember. We brought all our possessions away with us including most of the Terrigen and the materials used to make it, and sealed the Gate beyond Kilda, building a ring of fortresses around it so that no one could go back to the Blessed Land and no one could come to the lands of the Kree through it." he reveals.

"And the Gifted? What about them" Simmons asks, seemingly saddened by the story.  
"They understood why we were leaving, and though they were saddened, they didn't protest against the decision. - Ronan reveals - They had defeated the Great Snake and brought relative peace among themselves, but the Terrans were even more afraid of them, now. Thus they went in hiding, and vowed to keep the way of Ma'at, to remember the days of Ta Meri, and wait, until the day the Terrans became our and their equals, with nothing to fear from any of us. On that day the Gifted would reveal themselves, and help the Terrans build a ship, and together they would come through the Gate and lead us back to the Blessed Land, so that we could make amends and live all in peace once more." he concludes wistfully.

"Wow, that's sad..." Skye comments. She still looks upset and shocked, but no longer murderously angry. It's a start.  
"So you have been waiting for... seven thousand years?" Coulson asks.  
Ronan acquiesces.  
"Give or take a couple of hundred years. - he confirms - Most people or started thinking it was all a legend, a product of imagination or propaganda, like Capitan America from Peter's Terran comics."  
"Capitan America is not a legend. - Coulson points out - He is one of the Avengers."

Ronan is glad that mask and hood cover most of his face because he is sure that he is making what Peter calls his 'What The Fuck?!' face, and apparently people tend to find it very funny.  
"Really?! But Peter said that the war has happened a long time ago, and that Terrans don't live that long... - he objects - Is it a title, then? A collective name?" he hypothesises.  
"He was cryopreserved." Coulson reveals.  
"Oh, dear... Wait until Peter meets him..." the Kree comments fondly.  
"He is a fan?" Coulson asks.  
"Very." Ronan replies.  
"I was too. Working with him was an incredible honour. - Coulson reveals, and for the first time since he set foot in that lab, Ronan sees the man smile - So, our blue friend from last time must have been a true believer." he adds, switching back to business without even pausing for breath.

"But one that had learned nothing from history. - the Kree replies without missing a beat - I am glad you stopped him from repeating our past mistakes. If we re-tie diplomatic relations, the Kree government will probably ask for his extradition." he forewarns.  
"Yeah, I would too. That guy was totally convinced that we were an absolute threat and deserved to die for it. - Skye comments - I mean, we had some trouble with some... Gifted, but we didn't even know they were... you know, a different sentient species. He was terribly well informed. More than us." she adds.  
Coulson nods. "He had very specific intelligence."

"What was his name?" Ronan asks.  
Coulson and his men exchange glances.  
"His name is Vithek, or something like that." the leader replies.  
Ronan mulls the name over in his head. He doesn't recall anyone with that name among the Accusers, but Fiyero must have recruited during his absence, so he asks.  
"Did he wear a hood and wield a hammer?"  
"No, he was in civilian clothes and had some kind of device that allowed him to pass for human. - Skye replies - Some sort of cloaking device to hide the blueness... Even if he was still a lot less blue than you."  
Ronan curses between his teeth. "Did he have a neuro-reprogramming weapon?" he asks.  
"Yes, he had a baton that made people forget things. I still have it for study." Fitz replies.  
"He was secret service, then. - Ronan concludes - Was he sent by the government or did he come as a rogue agent?" he inquires.  
Lady Derdriyu had not told them anything about a previous mission to Terra, but maybe she had not known about it, either because that scum of her predecessor had not told her, or because he didn't know either.

The Agents regard him in silence.  
"We don't really know. - Skye admits finally - Lady Sif hit him with the forgetting stick and he forgot what he was doing here. That made him a bit useless as a witness, and then we had quite a bit of trouble with the Inhumans and then with Ultron and... we kind of forgot about him, I guess..." she adds apologetically.  
"Wait, what was Lady Sif doing here?" Ronan asks, frowning in displeasure.  
"Odin sent her when he got wind that the Kree was on the planet. - Coulson replies - The Asgardian crown tends to be quite protective of it."  
"I have serious difficulties about seeing Odin as protective towards anyone." Ronan retorts grimly, then it dawns on him. It must have been Loki to give the order, and he cares for Terra because Thor does.  
"Nevermind. - he says - So the Lost Ones are resurfacing and causing trouble?" he asks, leaning forward towards the Terrans. Hopefully it will not be another Great Snake situation.

"A group of them. - Skye replies - They had a bone to pick with SHIELD." she adds.  
"They got caught in the conflict between us and HYDRA and ended up being treated as hostiles. - Coulson adds - There were some casualties and we took some of them prisoners over the years..."  
"For what crime?" Ronan asks.  
Coulson hesitates and grimaces. That tells Ronan everything he needs to know.  
"The mission of SHIELD is to protect this planet and its population from things that they do not understand and that might be a threat to their safety." Coulson explains.  
"To keep them in reassuring ignorance, you mean..." Ronan comments sarcastically.  
Skye snorts with laughter. Coulson seems outraged instead.

"And you must think very little of your people's intelligence if you believe that they haven't realised that there is something out there after two alien invasions and an omnicidal artificial sentient." the Kree adds.  
"And what would you do instead? Tell everyone that humans are not the only sentient species on the planet? - Coulson asks - That we have an informal diplomatic agreement with an alien god-like race?"  
"And why not? - Ronan retorts - Knowledge is power. If they know they can do something about it. You can lead them to do something good and great from their knowledge. War is coming, Agent Coulson, and Terra has already been on the frontline. Soon there will be no way of hiding it." he adds gravely.  
Poor Terrans, it looks like they will have hardly any respite, walking into a crisis after another.

"The Inhumans wanted to take revenge on what they perceived as "oppression". They planned to unleash global Terrigenesis and take over the planet. - Coulson reveals - We had to take decisive action. And we couldn't let the general population know! They... we would have been seen as a threat! There would have been a witch-hunt against all the potential Inhumans! There would have been a war!" he protests, flushing darkish blue in indignance.

Ronan ignores his anger as another piece of the puzzle clicks in place.  
"Pama preserve us! That must have been also a part of Thanos' plan!" he whispers to himself.  
"What plan? Who is Thanos?" Skye and Coulson ask, almost at the same time.  
"Thanos is the mind behind the disturbances you have experienced in the last few years. - Ronan reveals - He is an agent of isfet, and plans to collect all the Infinity Gems to reverse Creation and bring about the end of times."  
"Wow! Just wow! That guy is seriously nuts! - Skye comments - Doesn't he realise he is going to die too?!" she objects  
"I don't think he cares. - Ronan replies shaking his head - He has erected himself as judge, and judged that life is senseless and wasteful, a mistake that needs to be corrected. He thinks that with his actions he is saving the Universe." he explains.  
"Messianic delusions much?" the girl comments with a smirk  
"Very much. - the Kree agrees, returning the smirk - His main objective are the Infinity Gems, he needs them for the final part of his plan, but his secondary objective, in the meantime, is to cause as many wars of mutual destruction as he can. He has been at this game for centuries already, and he knows exactly what buttons to press to breed deep-seated hate between two groups of people." he warns.

"So you reckon that he pushed buttons here to manufacture a war between the Gifted, or Inhumans or whatever, us, and maybe your people? - Coulson asks - That seems a bit far-fetched." he adds sceptically.  
"It might not be the case, but I think the possibility should be investigated. The Kree agent might have been compromised and sent here to prime you against the Lost Ones, to make you see them as a greater threat than they actually were, or to make sure that the population of Terra perceived the Kree as enemies." Ronan offers.

"It would make sense, but the Inhumans from Afterlife were a real threat, make no mistake." Coulson retorts.  
"And what turned them into it? What pushed them finally into action?" Ronan asks.  
"SHIELD policies on 0-8-4 contention." Skye replies.  
"What is an 0-8-4?" the Kree asks.  
"An object of unknown and potentially harmful power." Coulson replies.  
"And that includes people?!" Ronan exclaims.  
"That included even me. - Skye reveals - Especially after my powers were awakened, when I couldn't yet control them fully. Some folks wanted to lock me away." she adds, casting her boss a meaningful glance.

Ronan grimaces.  
"You are afraid of them, and they are afraid of you, both have your reasons. - Ronan summarises - It would not take much for the situation to escalate into a full-blown crisis."  
"Do you think the crisis with Afterlife was engineered?" Fitz asks.  
"I have no idea. It could have been. - the Kree replies sincerely - But once Thanos turns his eyes towards this planet, he won't leave the matter alone. It is perfect raw material for him. Terra won't be safe until the problem is solved. Based on our experience, conflict resolution is the most effective strategy to deprive the Mad Titan of weapons." he explains. And then he might send shock troops to push the situation further, but that's another matter.

"We are not done with the Inhumans yet..." Coulson whispers, shaking his head.  
That thought floats in the silence of the room for a while, as the five of them consider it grimly. Not yet a day on the planet and they have already a potential civil war on their hands.

"If this is part of a larger plan, Thanos might have already sent more agents on the ground... - Coulson whispers after a while - Fury and the Avengers needs to be informed. This can quickly escalate into a crisis." he judges.

"What...?! What crisis?" a female voice asks. Agent May, the woman with the pipe, has come round, and is now trying to sit on the ground with her head in her hands.  
Her eyes seem a bit unfocused to begin with, but they become sharp and focused in a pinch as she sets her eyes on the Kree sitting against the wall. She tenses and her hand inches towards the pipe once more.

"May, don't. " Coulson orders.  
The agent stops in her tracks, giving him a quick, inquisitive glance.  
"Is this a hostage situation?" she asks with a grimace.  
"Only if I'm keeping you hostage with my charm and good looks..." Ronan comments, immediately regretting it. Rocket's sarcasm must be rubbing off on him.

Skye snorts, covering her chuckle with an imaginary cough.  
"We are just talking." Coulson says quietly.  
May looks at him with even greater scepticism.

"It was my fault, alright? - Skye butts in, raising her hands in surrender - I freaked out because of Mr Forgetful and the whole Inhuman thing, and jumped him unprovoked. Coulson was just trying to spare me from getting my ass handed out to me." she adds defensively.  
"You weren't doing too bad." Ronan comments.  
"You weren't even trying!" she protests, crossing her arms and pouting a bit.  
"I was trying to contain the damage. It would have hardly been appropriate to a diplomatic mission if I hurt you too seriously. - the Kree retorts politely - But you hit me, and not just once. It's not bad. It took Gamora and Nebula a month of training to manage to do the same, and Drax about twice as much. Next time remember to focus, instead of going into a rage. You could have gotten me at least a couple times more, if you had." he advises.  
"Yeah, both Tripp and May have told me the same thing over and over." the girl muses.  
"Then you'd better listen." Ronan comments.  
"Alright, alright... - Skye concedes - I'd do my Jedi mindfulness exercises... though from your looks I'd have pegged you more as an 'Embrace the Dark Side' type of person." she comments playfully.  
"I've been to the Dark Side. - he admits - There is only pain and desperation in it."  
"Wow! Is it really real, then?! Like in the movies?!" she exclaims, all excited.  
"It's just a metaphor, as far as I know. - Ronan retorts - And I haven't really watched the movies yet, so don't understand what you are referring to." he adds with a hint of embarrassment.

"Have I been knocked too hard on the head or are we really sitting on the floor having a friendly chat with the alien that just beat the crap out of us?" Tripp says, looking like he can't believe his eyes. He must have just regained consciousness too.  
"We are." Fitz and Simmons reply in unison.  
"I thought we were dealing with a crisis." May pointed out.  
"That too. - Coulson confirms - Our discovery of Inhuman Program might have been a set-up." he explains.  
"A set up how? - May insists - We know the Inhumans exist. Skye is one of them."  
"A set-up to show us the situation in the worst possible light. - Skye replies - We came out of that mission with the impression that the Kree are total, genocidal level bastards, and that the Inhumans have it out for the rest of the population on Earth."

"And what is the truth, instead?" she presses.  
"That apparently, humans, Kree and us are long-lost kin." Coulson explains with a smile.  
"Us?!" May and Tripp repeat, frowning in puzzlement. They don't know, then.  
"Yes, well, there is no way to hide it anymore, is there?" Coulson reveals, raising his blood-stained hand.  
May's slanted eyes widen in shock at the sight.  
"Is that because of..." she starts.  
"Yes, it's always because of TAHITI. It didnt just mess up my mind, it changed me for good. - Coulson finishes for her - You see, there was another Kree on this planet until not long ago." he reveals, turning towards Ronan with a wistful smile.

"Your father?" Ronan suggests.  
"In a manner of speaking. It's thanks to him if I am here today. - Coulson says - I was wounded in action just before the Chitauri invasion. Your pal Loki stabbed me through the heart with his scepter." he says.  
"The scepter that held the Soul Gem?" the Kree asks.  
"The very same. - Coulson confirms - My body died, but apparently my mind didn't shut down, somehow. I was still there. Vision thinks that the Gem strengthened the bond between my body and my soul, but it did do me any favours. I was left there for a while before Fury noticed." he adds in a whisper.  
He has gone even paler, almost translucent, and wide-eyed. His hands shake minutely. It must have been a horror beyond comparison.  
"You don't have to tell him." May rasps.  
"I do. What they did was not right. - Coulson insists, taking a deep breath - Neither to me nor to him." he adds.  
"But he was dead! - May exclaims - He had been for decades!"  
"He had been a person. We had no right to treat him like a piece of meat to experiment upon." Coulson retorts

"What are you talking about?" Ronan intervenes.  
The two stop bickering immediately and exchange a long glance. Coulson looks away first and turns towards Ronan.  
"We are talking about that other Kree I mentioned earlier. - he reveals - The RSS found him already dead in a HYDRA base, about 70 years ago. An explosion, or something like that, had broken him in half at the waist, and the bottom half was lost. RSS and then SHIELD kept the rest of him cryopreserved and perfused. We wanted to study his biology." he explains apologetically, and Ronan tries to stay calm, even if what the Lost One is describing is the worst kind of desecration, something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.  
"And what does this have to do with your mortal predicament?" Ronan asks, stamping down on his anger for a moment more.  
"Information first, indignation later. Treat it as the questioning of a witness." he tells himself.

"Our scientists had discovered that a blood derivative extracted from the corpse, combined with a low-dose radiation source could induce tissue regeneration in lab animals. - Coulson explains - They used it on a few other test subjects and then on me, to try and fix me." he adds.  
"I assume it worked." Ronan comments dryly.  
"It did, mostly. My heart started to knit back, but not fast enough. - he confirms - As soon as they re-started it and it resumed its task, it would tear open again, so they would inject more of his blood in me and try again. Six times they tried and failed, and in the meantime my brain was slowly starting to decay." he narrates with a haunted, faraway expression.

Ronan cringes in horror, a feeling he seems to share with the SHIELD agents. It's a small miracle this man has managed to stay sane through all this. Terrans are quite amazing, though, as far as he has seen. They are resourceful, smart and resilient. It's a small wonder that his ancestors were so taken by the seemingly puny Romw.  
"How did they heal it then?" he asks softly.  
"Apparently they did not. - Coulson replies - They swapped it with the one they took from your compatriot." he reveals.  
"What?!" Ronan exclaims, more than a bit shocked. What sane person would put the heart of a long-dead alien into a friend, without even knowing whether it would work out? The SHIELD executives must have been pretty desperate.

"You got transplanted with alien tissue... - Fitz comments softly - That shouldn't have worked. I mean, the biology is so different! The hyper-acute rejection should have killed you within hours, days at most!" he protests.  
"Well, sorry to disappoint..." Coulson comments wryly.

"It was the transfusions! Of course! It's so obvious!" Simmons exclaims instead.  
"Not really... - Skye objects - Who votes that it isn't?" she asks, raising a hand in the air.  
May, Tripp and Coulson raise a hand too, and Ronan follows suit. He has been understanding very little of what the two scientists have been saying since he has arrived.

Simmons blushes a pretty shade of pink and stammers an apology.  
"Right, so, I have a theory that the serum they gave you was some sort of stem cell transplant of some kind, something thay actively secretes healing factors. - she starts explaining - According to what he said, the Kree have adapted to high baseline radiation, so probably their stem cells can survive being exposed to the levels of radiation we found in the GH325 serum." she adds, turning towards Ronan.

"But mine couldn't." Coulson chimes in.  
"Yes, well. It wasn't enough to completely clear out your bone marrow niche, like in a real stem cell transplant, but enough to create a space for the little blue guests to make themselves at home and start proliferating. They must have prevented the non-self immune reaction. - she clarifies - You have become what in medical terms is defined as a chimera, sir! I bet that if I took a sample of your blood, I would find two types of blood cells and two different strains of DNA." she adds, nearly clapping her hands in enthusiasm.

"But your physicals had been checking out fine after you came back, even during the carving crisis. - May objects - There is no way they could have missed something so obvious as blue blood." she adds, then sighs and shakes her head.  
"You have been wounded in action after that, and you bled red, you looked normal..." she nearly moans.

"He hasn't had any physical in a while. - Simmons intervenes - You're actually overdue one, sir." she adds with a sweet smile.  
"It's been only these last few months, and it started subtly, like the compulsion. - Coulson confirms - Do you remember when you remarked thay I seemed exceedingly fit after we trained?" he asks May.  
The woman nods, looking uncertain.

"I had not been training extra hours. I had just become stronger, harder to tire, all of a sudden. - he reveals - I healed faster, and injured less. Then my heartbeat started to slow down, my blood started to go purplish-blue and my skin started to grow colder..." he narrates.  
"You still feel warmer than a trueborn Kree. - Ronan comments - You're probably intermediate, like the first-generations of the Lost Ones used to be." he muses.  
"I guess that is because the Kree cells have become the principal population in your stem cell niches, but you still have plenty of Terran, I mean, human, cells. - Simmons argues - This is so fascinating!" she exclaims.

"Do you know the name of the man who gave you his heart?" Ronan asks.  
Coulson shakes his head.  
"He was identified only as GH. Why do you ask?"  
The Kree shrugs. "Even if it has been decades, his House might want to know what has happened to him, and that he left descendants on Terra." he explains.  
"I am not..." Coulson tries to protest.  
"You are. - Ronan cuts him off - You carry his genes, and you might be able to pass them on to your offspring." he declares. Coulson seems a bit unsettled by his explanation.  
"Do you really think so?" he asks with a grimace.  
"Not very likely, but possible, especially if the radiations have... killed off your... eh, spermatogonia, sir. His stem cells might have colonised... down there too." Simmons comments, blushing bright red and stammering.

"Your position in this organisation is equivalent to that of an Accuser for us. - Ronan continues, pretending he doesn't see Coulson's understandable dismay - It is a distinguished, prestigious career. I don't think that many Houses would reject you. We lost so many of our own during the war with Xandar that any relative, no matter how collateral, would be welcome by most." he explains.  
"I am sorry to hear that, but we have no way of idenifying him." Coulson insists.  
"You do. Your blood. His blood. - Ronan retorts - Our government keeps a genetic database of all military personnel and civil servants, to identify their remains in case of fatality. We can check your sample against it." he explains. They don't need to know about the reproductive database. It tends to upset most non-Kree and at any rate, now that the Ancients have been shut down, Derdriyu is shutting it down too, so it doesn't really matter.

"And you think your folks will waste their time with this?" Tripp asks.  
"This is no waste of time. - Ronan insists - Naming the dead and ensuring they are remembered is one of the highest forms of religious piety among us. They will welcome the possibility of giving closure to a grieving family."  
"It always helps to know what's happened to someone you cared for. - Skye approves - Not knowing eats you up from the inside." she adds with a knowing look in her eyes.  
"I agree. - Coulson declares after a brief contemplative pause - I have to do this. It is something I owe that poor man." he adds almost apologetically.

"Does your terminal have a radio-frequency wireless connection?" Ronan asks the two scientists.  
"Yes, sure. - Fitz replies - What for?"  
Ronan pulls out his comm and turns on the wireless connection on it.  
"I am going to call Hala to get this situation sorted, and give them a heads-up about the plot to exploit the hostility against the Lost Ones. - he explains as he sets up the holocall transciever to transmit through the Gate - I though you might want to watch it on the big screen." he adds, nodding his head towards the equipment.

"I am not sure we are authorised to share this kind of intelligence." May objects.  
"If there are more rogue agents on the ground or more are planning to come, the Supreme Accuser Shanleigh is in the best position to identify them or stop them before they arrive here." Ronan points out.  
"And you reckon there might be?" Coulson asks.  
The Kree shrugs. "Pernicious ideas have a way of resurfacing, especially if someone starts to spread them intentionally." he comments.  
"Let's do this." Coulson declares, nodding his head.  
Ronan smiles under his mask and hands his comm over to Fitz for the wireless linkage, then calls his own old office.

Shanleigh replies after a moment, turning on the video feed. She is not wearing her armour, just a dark blue uniform. Her hood is down, revealing her pale, braided hair.  
"Greetings Accuser." he salutes, bowing at the camera.  
"Ronan! I wasn't expecting you to call so soon! - Shanleigh replies, looking pleased and surprised - You arrived safe and sound, I trust." she adds.  
"The journey was smooth and the landing soft." he replies formally.  
"Hey, they really sound like those ancient egyptian aliens from Stargate!" Skye comments, not quite under her breath.

"Oh dear..." Coulson comments instead. He takes half a step back, as if to regain his balance  
He looks pale and nauseous.  
"What's wrong?" May asks, stepping in discreetly and grabbing his elbow to steady him.  
"The tapestry... Look at it!" Coulson whispers.  
The others do, and Ronan does too, but sees nothing but a traditional, if well - executed calligraphic tapestry, of the kind that most nobleborn Kree have in their Houses.  
It's one of the steganographic ones, depicting part of the map of the Lost City under the guise of the last few verses of the Song of the Lost Ones.  
Like House Danu, House Lir is one of the Houses that sided with the Inhumans during both the Terran War and the Civil War on Hala and those tapestries are mementos of that allegiance and of the hope for the Return.  
He sees nothing alarming or very unusual in it, but from the look on the faces of his improvised allies, most would disagree. It doesn't really make sense, though because there is no way they can read it. Even among the Kree, only the upper classes learn the High Kree script: sadly it's most of a relic of days past and almost all modern documents are written in a phonetic alphabet derived from the Spartoi script.

"Oh my goodness... - Skye comments - It's the same stuff that you asked me to investigate..." she adds.  
"It's a piece of the map I was writing... - Coulson whispers - The map to the Lost City."  
"You did what?!" Ronan asks.  
Coulson doesn't reply, he is too busy staring, but Skye taps briefly on her comm device and hands it over to him.  
On the screen there is a picture of a dark wall incised with dense, precise lines of High Kree script.  
"Who did this?" he asks. He thought he had things under control, more or less, but now things are changing too fast all over again.  
"I did. - Coulson admits, his eyes still wide with shock - I wrote that over and over again. I could not help it. I could not make it stop." he adds weakly. He is looking slightly greenish with nausea.  
"Do you know what is written here?" Ronan asks, pushing the comm towards him.  
Coulson shakes his head.  
"It's not writing. It's a map. - he insists - I inherited it from GH, through his blood. He guided me there." he whispers.  
"You've been to the Lost City?" Ronan asks.  
Coulson is still too busy staring, but the others nod.  
"It's where I was Awakened." Skye comments.  
Ronan looks at them with wonder, but once more decides to hold the questions for the moment. It's startinv to be a bit too much to take in at once, but he has to see the meeting through and establish the foundations for a peaceful collaboration between the Terran authorites and his former colleagues.

"The map is also a text. Archaic script was a steganographic meta-language that encoded map into texts and vice versa, melding their meanings." he reveals.  
"What does it say, then?" Skye asks, quirking an eyebrow.  
"And the day will come when Lost Ones and Romw are equal, and both can stand on par with the proud Houses of the Kree. And then a messenger will come from the Gate, bringing glad tidings and forgiveness and a thousand ships will be launched across the empty sky-sea, fording the distance, re-knitting the wounds. - he recites, translating as best as he can on the fly - Fat bulls will be slaughtered, incense and perfume will be burned, and the temple of Pama will resound with songs and laughter, for the hour of forgiveness will have come. Those who were Lost will be Found and across the skies, we will be one people, one Home." he finishes.

"What is this?" May asks.  
"This is the end of a poem I was telling your colleagues about earlier, one about the Lost Ones and the Kree. - Ronan replies, then turns towards Coulson - This is the part about the Return, Coulson. Your benefactor must have come here to try and fix things, and it seems that his akh has left this responsability to you." he declares.  
"What the hell is an akh?!" Coulson asks.  
"A spirit, or a ghost, if you will. - Ronan replies with a shrug - He couldn't or wouldn't go forwards into the afterlife, so he stayed, and waited, and finally gave his message to you, for you to decode and bring to fruition. Whatever else you might be, you are his son now, you are his only legacy." he adds.

Coulson looks at him with a slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression of mixed of horror and awe, but before he or any of the other Terrans can protest or even comment, Shanleigh intervenes, probably fed up with trying to guess what was going on through the screen.  
"Ronan?! Who are those people? What's going on?" she asks, frowning and waving a hand towards the agents of SHIELD standing in the background.  
"Sorry, Accuser, we got distracted. - Ronan tries to minimise, hoping that she will probe no further - These are Terran law enforcement are the Shields." he adds, adapting the name of the Terran organisation so that it will make sense in Kree.

"Did you already get arrested?! Do I need to vouchsafe for you Guardians?" Shanleigh jokes, chuckling to herself.  
"Haha. Hilarious. - Ronan comments flatly, much to her continued amusement -They need help with some enquiries about two Kree that crossed the Gate before us, one of which was on the verge of committing a heinous crime." he explains, omitting the sensitive issue of the akh and of its message. That is for Coulson to figure out or divulge.

"The Gate?! What are you talking about? - she exclaims, caught by surprise - I thought you were going to Terra!" she adds.  
"We did. Terra is the Blessed Land. - Ronan replies with a pleased smile - One could even say that the prophecy of the Return is being fulfilled, after a fashion." he adds.

"Is Star-Lord... Is he... a Lost One?!" Shanleigh continues, increasingly confused and awed.

"No, he is not. But they are. - he replies, gesturing towards Coulson and Skye - Let me introduce you Agent Phil Coulson and Agent Skye.  
Those are their Terran comrades, Agents May, Tripp, Fitz and Simmons. Agents of SHIELD, this is Shanleigh of House Lir, Supreme Accuser of the Kree." he announces solemnly, switching language halfway.

"Did you just tell her what we are?" Skye asks in a side-whisper, elbowing him to attract his attention.  
"I did." Ronan confirms.  
Skye sighs and steps forward, standing next to him.

"Hi! Nice to meet you!" she says, waving a hand in salute. Coulson hesitates a moment, growing slightly blue-ish in embarrassment, before joining her.

Shanleigh waves back, an awed expression on her face.  
"I never though I was going to see them. I never thought the Return was going to happen in my lifetime." she comments quietly, casting a quick glance at the tapestry behind her.  
"We are blessed. - Ronan agrees - But the Return is already at risk. We suspect Thanos' hand in an attempt to set Terrans, Lost Ones and Kree all at each other's throat. They twarthed it, for now, but they need your help with the investigations to make sure there are no more attempts." he explains.

"They have it. - Shanleigh confirms without hesitation - Stopping Thanos' plan is our main strategic objective, and we have a debt of honour towards the Blessed Land. Tell the Shields that they will have the full collaboration of the Accusers in all matters. We will stand by them, like our forefathers stood with their forefathers before, in the time of  
Ta Meri." she announces solemnly.  
"Let us stand together in Ma'at, my brothers and sisters!" she proclaims, thumping her fist on her chest.

"What did she just say?" Coulson intervenes.  
"She said 'welcome to the team, Agents of SHIELD', more or less." Ronan announces with a wide smile.  
Coulson smiles back, all traces of mistrust and weariness forgotten, and Skye elbows him again, giving him an impish grin.

The Lost Ones are now Found. They are going to make sure that things stay that way.


	45. Chapter 45

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Compared to the last chapter, this one seems like a midget, but hopefully it will satisfy you folks until next month.  
I have to be honest with you: I have written precious little for Spoils of War, compared with what I'm writing for Breaking the Chains, but I have the plot all written down and I'll do my best to finish it.  
There might be some hiatus in the future, though, and I apologise in advance for it.

Warnings: strong mentions of torture, aftermath of torture, PTSD, mild speciesism, angst, politics.

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

When they get into the meeting room, Fury is as angry as his name indicates.  
Based on that, Helenai would have thought that the talks with SHIELD would be much tougher, but they reach an agreement on most points quite quickly.  
Having Thor, Vision and Wanda on their side surely makes things much easier. Or maybe, after being targeted three times in three years, the Terrans are just tired and a bit desperate.  
Faced with the new, far-reaching threat of Thanos and his plans to unleash the end of everything, the Avengers seem to be quite enthusiastic about having some help.

The stickiest point of the negotiation is the presence and role of Loki within the mission, as they thought it would be. Thor, Vision and Wanda try to smooth things out on this issue too, but Fury, Hawkeye and the Widow seem to be entirely against the idea of giving him a chance, regardless of the guarantees and reassurances her, Gladiator and Saskia are ready to give them on behalf of their respective governments.  
The Jothunn prince must have really messed things up on Terra during his last stay.

"Sorry, but we cannot trust that individual. - Fury declares - Thor has told us that he is known for his ability to deceive and manipulate, and now you have just told me that he has been impersonating Odin for more than a year without anyone being the wiser."  
"I did that for a reason! I was trying to save Asgard!" Loki protests.  
"Says the man who claimed he was invading Terra to save it from itself..." Fury comments. Between the two of them, the rest of the people in the room are drowning in sarcasm.  
"That was different. I wasn't in my right mind at the time." he retorts stiffly, clenching his fists on the table.  
"That's very the most abused excuse in the world. In the Galaxy, probably." Fury dismisses haughtily.

"Are you familiar with the concept of psychological reconditioning, Director Fury?" Saskia intervenes bluntly.  
"What are you insinuating?" the Terran asks.  
"I am not insinuating. I am asking. - the Xandarian retorts tersely - Are you familiar with the concept?" she insists.  
"I am, of course. And our government does not condone it." he hastens to declare, like someone who has a guilty conscience, possibly on behalf of his beloved government.

"As we told you in the yard earlier, we have evidence that Loki was forced to attack Terra on behalf of Thanos by the use of such unsanctioned techniques. - Saskia explains patiently - Thanos is not limited by laws and other niceties. He has people ready and willing to use torture, and he is in possession of the Mind Gem. He is not shy about using everything he has to obtain his objectives, as other members of the team can attest." she adds.

"So far, all I've been given is words and assurances. - Fury retorts, unimpressed - I want the evidence you were talking about. I want to see it, to examine it for myself, not just to hear about it." he declares, crossing his arms over his chest.  
"We'll have it sent to you once we will be able to set up a secure hyperwave connection to the Council Headquarters." Saskia offers.  
"That is not good enough. - Fury retorts - That man is officially an enemy of the United States of America. We have orders from the President to apprehend him or shoot him on sight, and we need a damn good reason not to do so. Unsubstantiated excuses just won't cut it." he says with a sneer.

Helenai is suddenly taken by the desire to box him around the ears. Even Irani Rael was more easily convinced to let Ronan off the hook than this guy is proving to be.  
"They are not unsubstantiated excuses. These are the results of an official enquiry of the Safety Council." Helenai insists.  
"Your word is the only proof I have of its existence, and my government does not recognise it. - Fury retorts - Now, you can either stop beating around the bush and show me your evidence, or I will take him in custody." he announces.  
"We don't have it now, but you will have it. I promise." Helenai retorts.  
"Then he waits in a cell until I do." Fury says calmly.

Helenai gives Saskia and Gladiator a quick glance. It would make sense to make a gesture of goodwill and let them take Loki in temporary custody, but the Jothunn seems to feel nothing even remotely close to goodwill towards SHIELD. Nebula and Thor are surely going to defend him, regardless of the consequences to the mission, and in all honesty, knowing what she knows, she doesn't really feel comfortable with asking Loki to give himself up like that. She is not into victim-blaming. This can get complicated.

"This won't be necessary. - Thor intervenes - I will keep watch on my brother, while we wait." he offers with a smile, trying to smooth the situation out.  
"Sorry but no. - Fury retorts - You seem far too willing to believe your brother just because he is your brother. Have you seen the evidence?" he attacks, leaning in the chair.  
"No, but..." Thor replies.  
"No buts. - Fury intervenes before he can finish - Evidence or jail. There isn't a third option." he declares, glaring at the Jothunn across the table.

Loki glares back. His face is pale and drawn, and the Space Gem practically vibrates with his anger.  
"You want evidence? - he repeats quietly, with a clear threat in his voice - I'll show you the evidence." he declares, standing up.  
He shrugs off his long coat and lets it fall to the ground. His jacket follows suit, and then he pulls off his shirt, balls it up and throws it on the table with as much contempt as he can infuse in the gesture.

Helenai has already had a good view of him at the Council hearing, and knows what to expect, but the Terrans and Thor look at him with eyes wide in shock and horror.  
The Jothunn's torso and arms are a patchwork of ropy, twisted scar tissue, some still dark and raw, some silvery and sclerotised. Linear gashes along his ribcage show where the scars had to be incised to allow him to breathe properly. There is hardly an area which has been left unmarred.

"You will forgive me if I don't shed my trousers to show you where else they burned me." Loki hisses, leaning his long, thin body over the table to get in Fury's face as much as he can.  
The Terran recoils as much as the chair allows him, while some of the others seem on the verge of being sick.

"Who did this?! - Thor explodes, pale with horror and outrage - Who did this to you, brother?"  
"Everyman and the Other. Two of Thanos' men." Loki replies between gritted teeth, without turning to look at his brother.  
"I will destroy them!" Thor vows, slamming a hand on the table.  
"You can't. - the Jothunn replies - Ronan already did. I wish I had gotten to them first." he comments, deflating a bit. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, then re-focuses on his target.

"You remember my friend Ronan, don't you director Fury? - Loki drawls -Tall, blue skinned, scarred face? Was sick in the yard not long ago?" he adds.  
The Terran nods, looking increasingly confused and horrified.  
"Everyman had him in his clutches for just about half an hour, and still managed to take a blowtorch to his face. - Loki reveals - They had me for weeks, maybe months, him and the Other. Thanos gave me to them to play with, because I wouldn't yield to the Mind Gem even though falling through the Void had made me quite insane. They were quite inventive, I can assure you." he explains, eyes boring into him all the time.

"Do you know how many times you can break a Jothunn's bones before they stop healing?" he insists, speaking softly and almost sweetly.  
Fury shakes his head mutely.  
"I don't either. - Loki replies with a manic smile - They didn't manage to find out, but not for lack of trying. They did find out what was the limit beyond which my skin wouldn't grow back like it was before, though." he reveals, and his voice is calm and even as if he was talking about the weather.

"I will stay like this forever. - he adds, gesturing towards his scars - I will always be forced to remember that I was hopeless and powerless as they broke my mind and my spirit, until I could no longer resist the Mind Gem. I will always know that I wasn't strong enough to prevent Thanos from taking everything I was and twisting it, poisoning it and turning it inyo yet one more tool for him to use." he hisses in the Terran's face, then shoves himself away from the table and backs off, shaking all over, until his back is against the wall.

Nebula jumps from her chair, grabs his coat and runs to him.  
"They're dead. - she whispers, wrapping him in it - And he'll be soon. We'll be alright. I promise you, mo chroi." she adds, hugging him as best as she can as he slides to the floor, curling in a tight ball, wracked by shivers.  
"Is that proof enough, you assholes?! Will you leave him alone now?!" Nebula yells, gritting her teeth in fury.

"I... I would have never imagined... - Captain America stammers, pale with horror - He looked... well, unbalanced... but composed, you know? It was a very lucid and determined kind of madness. He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing." he adds weakly, still shocked by the unexpected turn of events.

"Ronan looked the same. - Gamora confirms - The Mind Stone works subtly, but deeply. It convinced him he was doing the right thing, when he was in fact betraying everything he had once stood for." she explains.  
"And how do you get rid of its influence?" Black Widow asks the practical question.  
"Getting the shit beaten out of you surely helps." Rocket intervenes with his customary subtlety.

"Neural reconfiguration by head trauma... it's a true and tested method." Iron Man comments, scratching his beard.  
"So getting hit over the head actually cures you from insanity?!" Drax intervenes.  
"More or less." Iron Man agrees.

"It looks like you Avengers fixed him, - Peter butts in - and Loki has been working his ass off to put a spanner in Thanos' works ever since. I mean, he could have stayed disguised as Odin and just let us fend for ourselves on Spartax, but he blew his cover to help us. He probably saved us all." he declares.  
"Yeah, and that thing about blasting Thanos with his own fire-bombs? It was his idea, and it was sweet." Rocket adds approvingly.  
"And during the Svartalfar crisis, he fought alongside me. He helped me to save Jane and to protect Midgard, even at the risk of his own life. - Thor chimes in - He might be a trickster, and he might like to make people look stupid, but my brother was always a brave man, a hero. He fought at my side in countless battles, and saved my life more times than I can count." he declares, and Loki uncurls partially from the tight ball he has tucked himself into to look at him with undisguised, raw love.

"I trust him to fight by my side in this glorious quest. I know he won't betray us, and I won't let anyone harm him. - the Asgardian continues, thunder in his voice - If you maintain your hostility towards my kin, you can fight without us." he threatens.  
"I agree with my good-brother. The United States of America are not the only government on Terra. - Helenai continues - I am sure another government, like Britain or Wakanda, or the European Union might be more understanding of the situation." she adds suavely.

"I am Groot!" the plant-child approves. He grabs Loki's shirt and pads to where the Jothunn and Nebula are still curled on the floor.  
"I am Groot?" he asks, pushing the shirt towards the Jothunn.  
"Yes, little one. I will be better soon." Loki manages to reply.

"You can't do this!" Fury hisses.  
"Of course we can. - Helenai retorts, knowing she has the backing of the whole team - Our diplomatic mandate is for establishing relations with any suitable Terran authorities, not specifcally with the USA. We though to choose you because you knew Thor and trusted him, but this is proving to be more trouble than help, so... It was good to know you, but I am afraid that, if you refuse to drop your hostile attitude towards an integral member of our expedition, we will have to leave it at that." she declares, standing up.  
"Does anyone know the route to Britain?" she asks the Guardians over her shoulder.  
"I do." Thor and Loki reply in unison.

Helenai turns back towards Fury and looks at him in silence, waiting for him to make his move, but the man just stares back at her in silence.  
"I think we should give him a chance to prove to us that he is not what Thanos made him into. - Captain America intervenes - It is only fair."  
"Yeah, I second. - Iron Man agrees - I feel like I have kicked a puppy."  
"I am not a puppy, and you barely managed to touch me." Loki points out fastidiously.  
Iron Man smirks.  
"I am sure I can do better, if you give me a rematch." he provokes.  
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather stick to chess? - Loki retorts - I am sure it would cost a lot of money to repair your pretty armour..."

Black Widow rolls her eyes.  
"And the testosterone is boiling over again..." she comments, much to Saskia's approval.  
"I don't call the shots, Fury does, but, in my opinion, we can make this concession. - she argues - They have the intelligence, the resources, and the experience. I don't like that man, and I will keep on doing so until he gives me a reason to start liking him, but I won't let my personal feelings interfere in this mission. The stakes are too high for this." she concludes.

"Natasha has a point. - Hawkeye chimes in - But if you so much as try to mind-fuck me again, you're going to be extremely sorry about it." he adds, turning towards Loki with a grim expression.  
The Jothunn chuckles quietly to himself. "Don't worry, I lost the taste for such things. You are safe from me, now." he reassures.

Hawkeye makes an ambiguous noise, possibly of approval, but possibly also of disbelief.  
"We'll see. - he says - You space-people would do well to remember that SHIELD is the only agency on the planet that knows how to deal with you guys. We have kicked alien ass for years, now. You can go and try with any other government, if you like to waste your time, but we are the only professionals in this field." he adds smugly.

"People tend to learn quickly, when their lives are at stake." Gladiator retorts, supporting her declarations. Helenai makes a mental note of thanking him later, if they have any private time at all. She still has some trouble with the spontaneous, freely given support her husband showers over her. She loves him, and freely choose to marry him, but everything is so bloody perfect between them that it seems unreal, and she keeps on waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Groot, grab Ronan from the infirmary, if you please." Helenai bluffs.  
She knows that SHIELD is their best option, but in all honesty, Loki has a point. Hawkeye has not been punished for what he did while under control of the Jothunn. It is only fair that the same favour should be extended to him.  
"I am..." Groot manages to say.

"Call the plant back. - Fury cuts in - He can stay, but he goes nowhere unsupervised, and he wears one of these." he offers, nodding towards Loki and pulling a thin metal bracelet out of the pocket of his coat.  
"What is that?" Loki asks.  
"This is an electronic tag. - Fury explains, without turning towards him - It will prevent him from accessing all computers and electronic devices and certain areas of the base."  
Loki glares at him, but keeps quiet, waiting for her, Saskia or Gladiator to make a move.

"This is all I am willing to offer. - Fury points out - If you don't like it, you can go and try your luck somewhere else." he adds unflinchingly.  
Helenai exchanges another quick glance with Loki, who sighs and rolls his eyes.  
"Deal." he says.  
"Deal." she repeats to Fury.

The Terran tosses the bracelet towards the Jothunn, who deftly catches it from the air and snaps it around his wrist. The implement emits some sort of electronic buzz and seals, without any evident joining point. It is a neat piece of equipment.  
The Terrans might not have achieved hyperspace flight yet, but they are quite crafty nonetheless.

"There, all done. - Loki announces, shaking his wrist to show that the bracelet cannot fall off - Are we done with this empty posturing, now? I though you wanted to figure out a way to save this planet..." he drawls. It seems like he has regained some of his composure, and most of his arrogance. Oh, joy...

"Coulson will kill me." Fury mutters, wearily rubbing his forehead.  
This simple utterance seems to throw the Avengers in total disarray.  
"What?!" Iron Man exclaims, turning towards the Director with a confused expression.  
"What do you mean?! - Black Widow insists - Agent Coulson is dead. He has been for years." she points out.  
Fury hesitates a bare moment before nodding, but the woman immediately smells the rat.  
"You lied to us! Why?!" she exclaims.  
"I didn't lie. - Fury retorts quickly - Coulson did die, for a while, and when you were fighting the Chitauri, it looked like he was going to remain dead for good." he reveals.  
"What?! What did you do to him? And why did you keep on lying to us?" Captain America asks, looking and sounding outraged.

Fury shakes his head and curses under his breath.  
"I can explain." he declares, raising his hands.  
"You'd better." Black Widow threatens.  
Helenai curses inwardly. She needs to use the facilities, but she can hardly ask for directions now, with the upcoming throwdown.  
She will have to wait it out. It's just her luck that it looks like it is going to be a long explanation.


	46. Chapter 46

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Hi folks, the bad news is that even though this new chapter is quite long, after this I only have two other chapters written down. The good news is that the next one is going to be another long chapter made entirely out of smut.

I blame Star Wars for everything (except the smut).

Warnings: police procedures, science! some mild speciesism, angst, some language (and Capt America does not approve!).

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

The conference call soon shifts from the infirmary into a more appropriate conference room/incident room.  
High-resolution display screens line most of the wall surface, and the table is another big touchscreen. There is a lot of space to brainstorm and organise ideas. Good, Ronan thinks, they will need it.

On the other side, Shanleigh has also transferred the call to one of the biggest incident rooms in the Accuser compound, and has called up her hand-picked team: Euan, Morthwyl and Aodhfin, plus Donya, a very dark brown-skinned girl that must have graduated after he left the post, and Maylah, a fourty-something pink-skinned scientist, even paler than Coulson, with barely a trace of either blue or dark pigment in her skin.

When they first see Shanleigh's team, the Terrans seem to be very surprised to see that not all of them are blue. To Ronan it seems quite odd, since apparently Terrans also come in all colours, from very pale pink to very dark brown, but one has to make allowances for expectations, and try to smooth out misunderstandings, so he tries to explain, much to the amusement of his former colleagues.

While Terrans produce just a dark protective pigment, Kree can produce two different ones, one blue and one dark, in variable combinations. The few people who only or mainly produce blue pigment are called irtiyu, people who only or mainly produce the dark one are called khem, which means black, even though most of them look only light brown, while the people who produce very little of either, are called hedj, which translates into white, even though they are mostly pinkish. The irtiyu gene is recessive and quite rare, because it is associated with lower tolerance to oxygen and lower metabolism of some sugars, so khem and hedj are the vast majority, especially in the lower castes which make up most of the population of the outlying colony worlds.

Fitz and Simmons seem fascinated by this piece of knowledge. Coulson instead seems quite worried, for some reason. Maybe he is afraid he will turn blue too, sooner or later. Ronan doesn't think he should worry, he reckons it would suit him well, instead. Even though he is quite short, he has the sort of sharp, manly features and confident demeanour that high-caste women seem to appreciate, and judging from the looks Maylah is giving him, it shouldn't be hard for him to find a mate among the Kree, even less if the family of his not-quite-father adopts him.

After this point is clarified, the meeting proceeds quite well and without any hostility. Ronan translates as best as he can between the Accusers and the Shields and soon all that blank space on the screens starts filling up with data of all kinds, notes and questions.

With some effort in translating the dates from the Kree dating system to the Terran one and back, they manage to build up a plausible timeline for the arrival of the mysterious Kree on Terra. Starting from the date of the first sighting in Portugal and going backwards, they allow a few days for the man to find a ship and supplies, and then a few more for him to get used to 20% oxygen. As Ronan suspected, the dates sit in very well within Cathair Fiyero's pro-Xandarian stint at the helm of the Kree Empire.

Identifying the man is also a relatively easy task. Skye sends over the anthropometric picture they took of him for their file. For Aodhfin it's almost child's play to cross-reference it against the Accusers' own anthropometric databases.  
The known offenders register does not yield any close match, but the servicemen and civil servants database does, instead.

"The man you have captured is Vithek, son of Vryok. His family is affiliated with House Derwen. - Aodhfin reveals, flashing a copy of the file to the SHIELD terminal - Here it says he is an health and safety inspector at the Ring on Kilda." he adds, as he scans through the document.  
"No chance." Skye comments.  
"That usually means they are secret service. They always leave a few at the Ring, to check the situation." Shanleigh comments.  
"That's what we suspected." Ronan agrees.  
"Are you saying that you have been watching Terra all the time?" Agent May asks after Ronan has translated the Accuser's words.  
The Kree exchange glances.  
"Well, yes. - Morthwyl finally admits - We didn't want any other Empire to colonise the Blessed Lands and harm our folks down there." he explains.  
"Well, people, you missed the Asgardians having themselves honoured as gods about a thousand years ago." Tripp comments with a shrug and a frown.  
"Right. Thor and Loki and all those talks about destruction. We didn't see them land because they used the bloody Bifrost..." Shanleigh comments, not very pleased with the news.

"Exactly. - Coulson comments - Now, about our forgetful friend: he had the intel about the lost ones from his position, correct?" he comments.  
"Correct. - Shanleigh replies - He had a high clearance and access to a wealth of information." she confirms.  
"The crux of the matter now is whether he was operating on Terra under orders from the government, or whether he had gone rogue. - Ronan summarises - Do you have any information on this matter?"  
Aodhfin nods, and pulls out another document.  
"According to the records, he vanished all of a sudden, with no prior notice and no explanation. His family filed a missing persons notice for him about a week after he went off the grid. - he continues - Their statement records that he was quite excited and anxious on the days prior to his disappearance. He told his mother via holocall that he had discovered something of great importance for the safety of the Empire." he adds.  
"And then his department asked for him to be found and arrested for desertion. - Euan comments with a grimace - Way to give themselves up..." he adds.  
"Was his disappearance investigated?" Ronan asks.

"Only very cursorily. - Shanleigh admits - He took his personal ship and most of the stuff he had on Kilda. There were no signs of violence, and everything lead us to think that he had left his post voluntarily." she adds.  
"Many of the people who end up being posted at the Ring flip the lid, eventually. - Donya comments - It's very lonely and isolated and the shifts are very long. It's hard work." she explains.  
"Plus, we were quite understaffed at the time. - Euan adds - Apart from all the people we have lost in the war, Fiyero ordered us to dismiss a bunch of officers and put a lot of red tape around us. He said we were overstaffed, inefficient and too expensive." he reveals.  
"But he didn't reduce our duties, the scoundrel. - Shanleigh adds - We were running ourselves ragged, until Lady Derdriyu allowed us to recall all the people we had dismissed and take up more recruits." she continues, nodding towards Aodhfin and Donya.

"So that was it? Case closed?" Coulson asks.  
"Pretty much. We were betting on some mid-life crazy plan of rearing cattle on a colony world, or finding his true self in a spiritualist commune on the blue moons of Centauri. Even if we had wanted to prosecute him for desertion, we had no one to spare to chase him up. - Morthwyl replies flippantly - His mother threw up a bit of a fuss, saying it was all a governmental cover-up, but eventually even she calmed down. The wife was the least fussed. She is even trying to have him declared dead so she can remarry."  
"She won't be happy to hear that he is alive and well." May comments.  
Morthwyl shrugs. "You can't always get what you want." he comments.

"I suppose it's true. - Coulson accedes - Our friend Vithek had convinced himself that the Lost Ones were an immediate threat and wanted to eliminate them all. I am lead to believe that this is not a common sentiment among your people." he adds.  
"It's not mainstream, no." Shanleigh replies.  
"There are some groups of people who think the Lost Ones will return but only to destroy us. - Euan intervenes - But they are some sort of cults, at the very fringes of society, and no one takes them really seriously." he adds hastily.  
"Well, Vithek was taking them dead seriously. - Tripp retorts - The question is: why? Was he acting under superior orders? Did he get compromised? Or was he always part of one of these cults and was sent to infiltrate your organisation?"  
On Hala, the Accusers stare at him with horrified faces.  
"We cannot exclude a priori any of these possibilities. - Shanleigh says finally - We will have to investigate more thoroughly." she adds, casting significant glances to her underlings.

"There is more. - Skye intervenes - Our blue friend wanted to kill all the Lost Ones, and there must be a few hundred of thousands, if not millions around. To me sounds like a huge plan, even for a determined, trained man." she argues.  
"He might have had accomplices, either still back there or down here." Ronan concludes for her.  
"Didn't you ask him when you captured him?" Morthwyl asks, quirking an eyebrow.  
"We would have wanted to, but Bobbi hit him over the head with the forgetting stick, and he forgot." Skye retorts, crossing her arms over her chest.  
There is a fair amount of rolling of eyes and sighing.  
"How wonderful." Euan comments.

"Can you ask them if they think he had a way to kill them alll on his own? - Simmons asks, gently nudging Ronan and pulling him out of his train of thought - I mean, we know that the Gifts of the Lost Ones are chemically activated, so I was thinking that maybe your scientists have put a second chemically activated construct into the Lost Ones, some sort of failsafe, if you know my meaning." she continues, hiding her worry with a wide, frozen smile.  
"Yeah, you didn't stick into us some sort of killswitch that would drop us all dead at once if you felt like killing us, right?" Skye insists, casting a sharp glance towards the screen.  
"Of course not!" Ronan tries to reassure her. He hopes not, but he cannot really be sure.  
The born Lost Ones wouldn't have been modified like that, but the made ones might have been. He turns the question to the others, hoping for reassurance.

"As far as I know, there is no evidence that this has ever been done to any of the Lost Ones. - Maylah replies pensively - After Eamon's people defeated the Rebel Families on the Blessed Lands, they screened as many Gifted as they could find and the historical genetic databases currently in our possession don't have any records of killswitches." she adds, checking her data on a pad.  
"They can't have sampled 100% of the population, for obvious reasons, but provided that the sampling was done thoroughly and appropriately, and that might be a big assumption, if there is such a killswitch among the population and they haven't detected it, it would be an outlier, affecting a tiny percentage of the population." the Kree scientist argues.  
Skye gives her a hard look.  
"I mean, it would be terrible if they were to die, and it would be a huge loss of life if the Lost Ones have grown to a popolation of millions, but it wouldn't be the optimal way of eradicating them all." Maylah adds hastily, blushing light blue.

"Then how?" May insists.  
"A metabolic poison tailored for the specific metabolism of the Lost Ones? Good old legwork? A trap? Getting you Terrans to do the hard work?" the Kree officers propose, with variable degrees of conviction.

"What about the Soul Gem? - Coulson intervenes - Loki was using it to bend entire crowds to his will. Maybe Vithek wanted to use it to unleash mass suicide."  
"And let's not forget that Vision is basically a Gem-powrered weapon of mass protection. All that power could have been used very differently." Fitz adds, looking expectantly at Ronan. Great, and now he has become the local expert on Infinity Gems, the Kree thinks, forcing himself not to roll his eyes.

"Well, the Gems are actual condensed energy of some sorts, but not all of them are as volatile as the Power Gem. - he replies - Vision might have found a way of unlocking and using it, but it is not an easy feat. Not everyone would be able to do it." he adds.  
"But Loki did." Coulson insists.  
"Maybe, but I think that in Loki's case it was just him. - Ronan replies - The Infinity Gems have powers of their own, but they also amplify the powers of their wielders, and he is a crafty Jothunn. There is more to him than just ice and sarcasm." he adds with a certain fondness. He has grown to like him a lot over the course of their acquaintance.

"What is a Jothunn?" Ward asks.  
"A member of the species native to Jothunnheim, the planet closest to Asgard. - Ronan explains - The Asgardians call them Frost Giants, when they are not killing them for sport."  
"So Loki is not Asgardian?" Skye asks.  
Ronan shakes his head. "He was taken hostage as a baby, to ensure the good behaviour of his biological father, King Laufey of Jothunnheim. He didn't know it, and he didn't take it entirely well when he found out." he adds.

"You seem to know him quite well." Coulson comments, turning towards him with an angry expression.  
"I do. He is kin to me by way of marriage, more or less, and he was Thanos' plaything before I was. - Ronan replies calmly - The Mad Titan fished him out of hyperspace when he let himself fall off the Bifrost after his first falling out with Odin, and tortured him into attacking Terra. I recently fell into the hands of the same man who had him, and I must say that he was very efficient at breaking people." he adds, pointing at his scars.  
This seems to calm Coulson down a bit, to give him pause, at least.  
"And why would he do that?" he asks.  
"Why does he do things? - Ronan retorts with a sigh - To create a war between Terra and Asgard, and to get the Space Gem for himself." he explains.

"There was an official inquest. Loki was acting under duress, and is only partially responsible for his actions against Terra. - Shanleigh adds to support him - He is almost as much of a victim as you are, battle-brother. The true culprit is Thanos." she adds.  
"It's a very meagre consolation after you have been stabbed through the chest and put through all kinds of hell. - Coulson retorts grimly - But since our mutual friend is here, I will have time to sort this matter out later." he continues, flexing his hands into fists.

"Let's leave aside the matter of how he Vithek wanted to eliminate the Lost Ones for the moment..." he says, quickly typing up the question and pushing it to a corner of the shared workspace along with the others.  
"Do we have any reason to think that Vithek wasn't operating alone, that he had brought cohorts here on Terra?" he asks instead.  
Shanleigh thinks about it for a moment.  
"His file says he wasn't exactly gregarious, but extremism and conspiracy theories can unite even a group of loners. - she muses - If he wasn't part of an extremist group to begin with." she sighs.  
"Do you have proof of the presence of other Kree on the planet?" Euan asks.

"Not yet, but I couldn't help notice that _hadj_ Kree and _khem_ Kree look a lot like Terrans except for the eyes and the pointy ears, no offence meant." Coulson replies, after waiting for the translation.  
"There is no offence. - Maylah replies with a smile - At least some Terrans are quite pleasant to behold." she adds, giving Coulson a significant look.  
"I don't think I have to translate that, do I?" Ronan asks, growing dark blue in embarrassment.  
Coulson turns a darker shade of blue and shakes his head, while the rest of the Agents and the Accusers chuckle to themselves.  
"I am just wondering if his cohorts might be lying low after we caught him, trying to blend in and hatching a new plan." he argues.

"You are right, we cannot discount this possibility. We will look into his associates and scour the missing persons lists. Maybe we can spot a pattern." Shanleigh proposes.  
"And we will round up the anti-Lost Ones cults and give them a grilling they won't easily forget." Morthwyl adds fiercely.  
"That would be very helpful. - May intervenes - We will look into any 0-8-4 and suspicious activity, to see if we can spot anyone who doesn't really belong." she adds.  
"Yes, well, if you stick them and they bleed blue, they are probably Kree, unless they are blue-blooded Xandarians. But the Xandarians are much warmer, and their ears are not pointy." Moryhwyl chimes in.

"What about metabolic poisons? - Skye chimes in - They are going to need a lot of it, if they want to cross off us all. If we knew what compounds they might be using, we could track down any big shipments and get some bearings on their hideout, if there is one." she proposes.  
Ronan translates, and the Accusers nod approvingly. Skye has good hunting instincts.  
"I'll upload a list of the plausible substances on this workspace. - Maylah offers - Ronan should be able to translate it for you, but if you need anything, just give me a call, alright? I'll upload my contact details as well, in case you need them." she adds, casting another coy glance in Coulson's direction.  
Both files ping on the shared workspace. Fitz and Simmons launch themselves at the first one, thanking the scientist profusely.

"There is just one thing I don't understand, and since you are a geneticist... - Skye declares - Why do we have to be Awakened? Why don't we get our powers from birth?" she asks, looking away and hugging herself.  
Shanleigh shrugs and looks at Maylah.  
"I think it was done to give the Lost Ones a choice. - the scientist replies, shrugging lightly to signal her uncertainty - You see, the first ones to get enhanced, chose that fate of their own free will, but their children would be born with the enhancing construct. They would not have had a choice. By adding the chemical switch to the constructs, our forefathers gave them the ability to choose. They could live their lives in peace, without ever using their Gift, or they could undergo the Awakening ritual and come into their power when they were old enough to know what they were doing, hopefully." she explains.  
"It is not pleasant at all, the Awakening." Skye protests.  
"Birth is not a pleasant process either, but it's the result that counts. You'll know it if you decide to have biological children of your own. - the scientist replies - Now, do you have any more questions? If you don't, I think I'll leave. I have an incubation that is running out in ten minutes." she adds, lifting up a timer for all to see.  
"Just one more thing. - Ronan butts in - We are sending you a genetic sequence for identification. It's to put a name on Coulson's late father. It's a long story." he explains, pulling out a sequencing chip.

Coulson sighs and takes a sterile pin from the desk. He pricks his index finger and squeezes a drop of mostly blue, but still somewhat purplish blood into the device and hands it over to Ronan, who picks it up gingerly from the holding tab and slots it expertly into the forensic module attached to his comm. It is a non-standard piece of bounty hunting equipment, a relic of his law enforcement days, and it has proven extremely useful over and over again.  
"I am sending the data now." he announces  
Maylah frowns for a moment, then her face lights up with excitement. "It's transferring." she confirms - I'll come back to check it when I am finished with my experiment."

"Do I want to know about this story?" Shanleigh asks, when the scientist has left.  
"I don't think so. Not now, at least. - Ronan replies after a brief, silent consultation with Coulson and May - Let's focus on the mission."  
"Yes, let's. - the Supreme Accuser agrees - Aodhfin, can you re-read the minutes for us?" she orders.  
The youngster nods. "So... we have to search into Vithek's past and examine his known associates to come up with a list of suspects. - he enumerates - The Shields will try to root out any sleeper agents and will track down the chemicals that might be used to eliminate the Lost Ones." he finishes.  
"I think we should keep an eye out for them here too, review the shipments, in case they took their raw materials from here." Euan proposes.  
"Good point. Donya will take care of it. - Shanleigh approves - I suggest leaving this comlink open, so that we can update each other with results as they come up." she proposes.  
The Terrans approve enthusiastically. Ronan sighs but lets the subject drop. It's not like he really needs his comm.

"Let's have another meeting in a week, unless we have urgent..." Coulson is saying, but the door to the incident room opens violently, slamming into the wall.  
The Agents all pull their handguns out and turn towards the potential threat, only to be faced with several of the Avengers and Thor.  
Coulson curses and lowers his weapon.  
May doesn't seem happy either.  
Ronan is slightly baffled. Aren't they supposed to be all working together?

A red-haired woman stalks towards Coulson and slaps him hard on the face.  
"We though you were dead! You deceived us!" she accuses, her fine features distorted by a grimace.  
Coulson presses a hand to his cheek with a wounded but not entirely surprised expression.  
"Natasha, I can explain." he offers.  
"You'd better." the woman threatens, arms akimbo.

"What is going on in there?" Shanleigh asks, caught between amusement and worry.  
"I am not sure. Some sort of family spat, I think." Ronan replies with a shrug.  
Shanleigh chuckles quietly.  
"We'll leave them at it and get a head-start on the legwork. - she announces - We'll call back in a few days, unless we have a major breakthrough, alright?" she proposes.  
"Alright. - Ronan confirms - Good hunting, Accusers." he salutes  
"And to you, comrade." Shanleigh replies with a smile before ending the call.

"Were you having a Skype call with aliens? - the Avenger called Iron Man asks, poking his head through the door - And that's your new team? They look cute." he adds as he walks in, unheeding of the murderous glares May, Tripp and Skye are giving him.

"It wasn't my decision to disappear. - Coulson explains, ignoring his antics - It was Nick Fury's. He ordered me to stay away from you." he adds.  
"He exploited your fake death to push us to fight together. - Natasha retorts, her voice still hard - You two broke our trust." she adds.  
"I didn't fake my death. - Coulson retorts - I died for real. Some sort of residual emanation from the Soul Gem kept me here, but my heart was so messed up that they had to graft the heart of a long-dead Kree inside me to give me a chance to pull it through. I am not even fully human any longer..." he explains, and finally Natasha backs off a bit.

"Fury assigned me to a new team to give me the chance to recover, but the truth is that you didn't need me anymore. You had gone beyond that. - he adds quietly - But I was needed here, with them. Maybe the job wasn't as showy, but we did good things. I missed you and Clint, Natasha, I really did, and I regret that this deception caused you pain, but I do not regret this." he adds, gesturing towards his agents.  
"You could have at least let us know that you were alright." says a blondish man with a pair of sunglasses.  
"No, I could not. - Coulson retorts, shaking his head - You know how it works just as well as I do, Clint."  
"Damn! - the man curses - I do, but... if Fury had not let it slip out, we still wouldn't know. It's not fair, Phil. It's not, and you know it." he insists.  
"You are right, Hawkeye. But let's leave the past behind for now, and rejoice in the fact that our friend in in fact alive, even though in possession of an alien heart. - Thor chimes in - It will be good to fight alongside you again, Phil son of Cole." he declares with his usual solemnity, gripping the agent in a bear hug.  
"Yeah, it's good to have you back." Clint agrees, while the others hum and nod their approval and come closer to hug Coulson or pat him on the back.  
Ronan feels suddenly out of place, but there is no way for him to slip away unnoticed, so he stays, trying to make himself inconspicuous.

"So what's with the aliens, people? - Iron Man asks again when the moment has passed - Were you getting to know the family of your donor, agent Coulson?" he jokes, nudging him with an elbow.  
Coulson seems very embarrassed.

"Is he always so inconsiderate?" Ronan asks to a blond, tall Avenger in a blue, white and red uniform.  
"Only when he is insecure." the man replies.  
"I can hear you!" Iron Man comments, piqued.  
"That is precisely the point. - Ronan retorts - A little respect for other people and their feelings wouldn't go amiss." he chides, crossing his arms over his chest.  
"Hey, Cap, it looks like you've found your alien counterpart. - Iron Man jokes - Another big man with a big stick up his ass... just what we needed." he laments.  
Ronan grinds his teeth together and forces himself to ignore him.  
Beating up one of the Avengers is not the wise thing to do at the moment, not when he has just narrowly avoided a diplomatic accident with the agents of SHIELD.

"Those were the Accusers of the Kree Empire. - Thor explains in his stead - They are mighty warriors and our allies."  
"We are conducting a joint investigation. - Coulson adds dryly - We might have stumbled into Thanos' next move to target Earth."  
"Wow! That was surprisingly fast. - Falcon exclaims - How did you manage?" he asks. His overgrown puppy air and enthusiasm remind Ronan of Morthwyl.  
"A mix of blind luck and hard conversations." Tripp replies, shrugging his shoulders.  
"Yeah, they must have been pretty hard indeed, judging from the bruises." Clint comments.  
"We had a small cultural misunderstanding. It's all solved now." May retorts, exhuding confidence and authority. Even though she is shorter than the Avenger and quite battered, Clint takes a step back and nods.  
"If you say so..." he concedes.  
There is no doubt, May is a real portent.

"So, what do you have?" Black Widow asks.  
"For now only suspicions. - Coulson reveals - Nothing that requires an Avenger intervention, just yet." he adds.  
"Aliens yes, Avengers no?" Iron Man comments, grimacing and crossing his arms on his chest.  
"What is wrong with this Terran?" Ronan asks himself.  
"They are part of the problem, and therefore of the solution. - Coulson explains - They already know what it is all about."  
"And we are not supposed to." Iron Man insists.  
"It's about us. - Skye declares - The people known to SHIELD as Inhumans, which is a really crappy name, in my opinion." she adds with a wry little smile.

"The mutants that have been cropping up recently." Iron Man says.  
"We're not mutants, just enhanced alien hybrids. - Skye protests - And apparently we've been around for what, eight thousand years?"  
"Seven thousand. An alternative name is Lost Ones or Gifted. Some communities might still define themselves as such." Ronan clarifies.  
"The cropping up might be because we have been using and dumping a lot more chemicals in the last fifty years or so. - Simmons chimes in - The... Gift is chemically activated. Maybe prolonged exposure to some of the components can trigger the Awakening. Ideally we would have to isolate the Gift construct and test it in rats to know for sure." she offers.  
"Or maybe the Lost Ones are just coming out of hiding." May proposes.

"Why would they be hiding?" Hawkeye asks suspiciously.  
"Because people react badly to other people who are different from them, and in the past it was even worse. - Skye replies promptly - Does the Spanish Inquisition ring a bell? Or the Holocaust? I mean, we still have some damned Nazis from HYDRA lurking around." she adds, looking a bit frazzled.  
"I share your worries, Agent Skye. - Scarlet Witch intervenes - Many people out there still see us either as gods or as monsters. I can feel their fear pressing on my mind when we get out, like maggots crawling and trying to get under my skin." she explains.  
"Yes, but maybe now, after two alien invasions, evil robots and you Avengers, some Inhumans think that the world is weird enough to accept them." Tripp argues nonetheless.  
"Hell yeah, - Falcon comments - It can hardly be any weirder than alien diplomatic legations popping on up Earth just like that." he adds, nodding towards Ronan.

"Or than knowing that some crazy entity is planning to destroy the Universe. - the blond man, who cannot be anyone but Captain America, chimes in - What role do the... Gifted play in all of this? Are they on Thanos' side?" he asks.  
"I don't think so, but maybe he has already sent agents to stoke up their animosity towards either the Kree Empire or the Terran authorities. - Ronan replies - Thanos loves to pit two species against each other in a war to the death. He hardly ever dirties his hands." he adds.

"Yeah, guys, seriously. Can you imagine if people came to know that there are part-alien people on this planet? - Skye continues with obvious dismay - There are enough crazy conspiracy theories, and crazy people who claim they have been abducted by aliens. And the bastards who already hate half of the world population for not being white enough, or straight enough, or religious enough? It would be a massive witch-hunt, basically open season on all "weirdos", including us standing here in this room." she concludes, looking pointedly at the Avengers.

"Who can blame them? - Iron Man comments - Weird people and aliens have never been good news to humans."  
"We have come to help." Ronan points out.  
"The average human is defenceless against an enhanced being. It would be enough that one of them goes rogue or slips up to cause massive amounts of damage and casualties." Iron Man continues, ignoring his remark.  
"Says the man who made Ultron..." Captain America comments, not quite under his breath.  
Iron Man gives him a fiery glare, but does not reply.

"Our objective is to investigate the situation and defuse it before we get to a crisis. - May points out - We don't know yet if the Lost Ones are a threat as a whole or not."  
"Seeing that they have stayed put for a few thousand years, I'd say they are not. - Tripp chimes in, stepping forward to stand in Iron Man's way - And what was that thing about folks being innocent until proven guilty?" he provokes.  
"Of course, because you know that we'll be here to clean up after you when the moment comes." Iron Man retorts.  
"So far, it has been mostly the reverse, Stark. - Coulson retorts decisively - You save the day, and we clean up the mess. Fair enough, but this time there will be no need for any mess. We have this." he adds calmly.  
"I highly doubt it. - Iron Man retorts - But you know where to find me when things get too hot to handle for the likes of you." he adds spitefully, then turns on his heel and leaves, nearly barging into Peter and stepping on Rocket's tail as he comes through the door.

"Hey! What's your problem!?" Rocket exclaims, turning to glare at the man.  
"Did we miss something interesting?" Peter asks, stepping closer.  
There is a rapid exchange of glances.  
"Just Stark being Stark." Coulson says in the end.  
"And a new bit of the plan to destroy the Universe, apparently." Skye emends.  
"Someone has been working while we had our little pissing contest... - Peter says, giving Ronan a seductive smile - I guess you are feeling better, then..." he adds, and Ronan wishes he wouldn't put so much subtext in his words.  
He nods, trying to push aside the images of rumpled sheets and bare flesh that his words have put in his head. The need that has been sleeping in him since they arrived wakes for a moment before he can push it back down, but the smile on Peter's face says he has seen it.

"Right, I am sure that there will be another meeting or briefing of some sort now. We gotta know each other beter and share intel and so on, I know. - Peter starts, as if nothing had happened - But can we have it in front of a pizza or a burger? Pretty please? I have been piloting the Milano most of the way and I am starving." he adds.  
To be honest, Ronan is feeling quite hungry too, now. Not quite as much as the last time he has been "high", but still...  
"It has to be pizza! Peter has been talking about it and how amazing it is all the karking journey! - Rocket butts in - Hey, is that a frequency-activated shock bomb?" he asks straight away, pointing at one of Fitz's projects.  
"It is." Fitz replies, either amazed that someone has recognised it, or totally confused by Rocket's appearance.  
"Sweet! - Rocket comments - There is nothing better against robots and cyborgs. Makes 'em writhe and scream in pain." he adds with his usual disturbing grin.  
Fitz just gives him a wan smile.

"Don't mind him. It's just his way of making friends. - Peter adds - So, about this pizza? Who is up for one?" he insists.  
"I wouldn't mind." Coulson admits, shaking his head.  
"Me neither." Skye chimes in.  
"I am all for one too. - Loki says from the door - It is the only good memory I have of Midgard... Oh, it is you." he adds quietly when he sets his eyes on Coulson.

A deep hush falls on the room as the Jothunn stalks towards the Lost One, looking at him with burning red eyes.  
His clothes, normally impeccably straight, are rumpled and slightly askew, and his usual mask of calm is down. Surprise and guilt play on his features as he gives the SHIELD operative a once-over.

"When they told me you were not dead, I found it hard to believe. - he says in an awed whisper - But here you are, alive and well."  
"No thanks to you." Coulson retorts dryly.  
"No. - Loki admits - I killed you. I know I did. I plunged the blade clean through, all the way. You should have died a quick death." he adds.  
"It was the Soul Gem." Coulson explains.  
"Of course. Now it all makes sense. - the Jothunn comments quietly - You look changed."  
"You too." the Lost One retorts.  
"This is my true form." Loki reveals.  
"And this is what happens when you are brought back from beyond with some help from a dead alien." Coulson offers.  
"A Kree?" Loki asks.  
"Got it in one." Coulson admits.  
"You have my most sincere admiration for pulling it through with your sanity intact. - the Jothunn adds - I wouldn't have wished that fate on my worst enemy. And you were not." he declares, dipping his head in a sketchy bow.  
Coulson seems surprised, but manages to nod in acknowledgement.

There is a long pause as the two assess each other in silence.  
"Why are you here?" Coulson asks eventially.  
"The mind and the will behind what I did were not mine, even if the hand that struck the blow was. - Loki replies - I am here to say that I wouldn't have done any of what I did, if I'd been in possession of my own free will." he declares.  
"Accuser Shanleigh and your team-mate explained the situation to me." Coulson comments, jerking his head towards Ronan.  
"So? What do you say to that?" Loki asks with his usual, defensive haughtiness.  
"I say you still are a conceited jerk, but I am all for giving people second chances. - Coulson replies without missing a beat - Not third ones, though, if you know what I mean." he warns, giving him a long, hard look.  
"I think I do. I too would be very disappointed with myself if I relapsed. - Loki retorts dryly - Don't worry, Phil son of Cole: I would rather die a thousand deaths than serve Thanos again. May my tongue rot in my mouth if I lie. May my kin shun me and disown me again, if I renege on my promise. May my soul drift forever in the Void if I harbour treason in my heart." he declares solemnly.  
"Sounds good to me." Coulson confirms, holding his hand out towards the Jothunn.  
Loki takes it and shakes it decisively, keeping his red eyes trained on Coulson's brown ones with a raw, vulnerable look on his face.

"Now, for this pizza-and-briefing... - Coulson continues, letting go of Loki's hand - The canteen makes disgusting pizza, but I know a nice place not very far from here. Obviously we can't go there, we'd cause a major panic outbreak if we did..." he explains, looking pointedly at Rocket.  
"And that's why I hate homogeneous planets..." Rocket comments.  
"But we can have it delivered." Coulson concludes.  
"This seems like an agreeable plan." Ronan comments, hoping that Rocket woll not make too much of a nuisance of himself.  
"I second." Peter chimes in.  
"Yeah, whatever. As long as it is pizza." Rocket retorts, without even looking their way. He is too busy showing Fitz and Simmons how to tune the shock granades for various uses.  
The two the scientists are listening intently to him and replying with suggestions and observations of their own. It looks like they are having fun.

"We have lost them." Peter comments.  
"Let's hope they don't blow up anything." Ronan adds, shaking his head in dismay.  
"How likely it is?" May asks sternly.  
"Not very. - Peter replies - Rocket knows what he is doing. Most of the time."  
"He is one of the most gifted mechanics I've ever seen." Ronan adds.  
"But he is a raccoon!" Skye comments.  
"And a brave person." Loki chimes in, obviously taking the defence of his partner in mischief.  
"Let's leave them at their own devices. I am sure they will show up when the food is on the table. - Captain America suggests - Let's find somewhere we can fit all our crews in, have lunch, and take things easy from there. I am sure we can make this joint mission work, if we just stay calm, give it a bit of time..." he declares.  
"...And mind our language!" Thor chimes in with a laugh.  
"Eh?!" most people except the Avengers exclaim.  
"That too. - Captain America agrees ruefully - You're never going to let me forget it, are you?" he asks his comrades.  
"Sorry, Steve, but it is too tempting to let it go." Natasha admits with a chuckle.

"It's a long story." Captain America says, going pink in embarrassment.  
"I'm sure we will have plenty of time to hear it while we eat. - Ronan chimes in - We don't know each other almost at all now, but we know we all hate Thanos. It's a start, at least, and we can build on that."  
"It's a lot. - Peter intervenes - I've managed to pick up dates with even less common ground than that, back in the day." he adds with a grin.  
"We don't need to be friends to work together." May objects, crossing her arms on her chest.  
"But we need to know each other at least a bit to work well together... you know, to avoid cultural misunderstandings, and to figure out who works better with whom..." Skye counters, grabbing Peter and Steve and pulling them out of the meeting room, without even waiting for a response.  
"It might sound naif, but she has a point." Loki chimes in.  
Coulson gives him a hard look, but eventually nods.  
May sighs, but starts following her.

"Come on, folks! I'm starving!" Skye yells over her shoulder as she marches her two catches away.  
"I'd better call the restaurant." Coulson sighs.

Skye's team-building attempt works pretty well, in all honesty.  
Pizza is in fact an amazing delicacy, as amazing as Peter claimed it to be and then some, and encounters everyone's favour.  
J'rth, in particular is quite taken by the new dish and manages to polish off nearly three whole pizzas on his own before collapsing in what the Terrans call a food-coma.  
Rocket also partakes liberally, but is too preoccupied with sharing tales of engineering mishaps with Fitz, Simmons and a really tall, powerfully built dark brown Terran who goes by Mack to really stuff his face as he is sometimes wont to do. Judging from the intermittent bouts of laughter, they seem to be having fun.

Peter has discovered that Steve is the Capitan America from his childhood comics and has latched on him like a child with a new toy. He is bombarding the Avenger with questions, but Steve doesn't seem to mind. He seems a good-natured, honourable fellow and Ronan wouldn't mind talking to him, if only it was possible.

If Steve is busy with Peter, Ronan himself is no less busy with Skye and Coulson, who seem determined to bury him under a ton of questions about the Kree Empire. They have already managed to make him promise that he will teach them the language. He would have volunteered anyway, though. They will surely need it, during the course of the investigation.

Thor and Loki are chatting quietly with Vision and Wanda, most likely updating them about family matters. Drax, Gladiator, Tripp, Falcon, War Machine and a pink Terran called Hunter look at each other with suspicion first and then end up talking shop in a corner, while all the ladies have banded together and are probably trading daring tales of adventure and a healthy dose of embarrassing stories about the rest of them, from the looks of it.  
May seemed to be the most sceptic about the benefits of having a relaxed chat with the rest of the would-be task force, but now she seems to be having quite a bit of fun.

It seems like everyone has managed to find someone to talk to, someone they can relate to, and the conversation is flowing.  
Ronan judges it a very auspicious start.

They haven't instantly become best of friends, but at least now they understand each other at least a bit, and some tenuous threads of trust has been spun between them.  
They are starting to realise that they are truly in this together, and that no one is trying to take advantage of anyone else, so when Fury calls them up for a new meeting, something to do with the President, the antagonism seems to have died down almost completely, and they show an admirable unity of intent.  
It seems like things are looking up, for now.


	47. Chapter 47

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Hi folks, the bad news is that is the second to last chapter I have ready, so you will probably have to prepare for a hiatus.  
The neutral news is that I have the story outline all written down, and hopefully watching Civil War will reset my mind on the MCU at least for a while.  
The good news is that this little monster clocks about 9000 words and it's almost entirely made of smut! I hope you will enjoy.

Warnings: M/M/F, M/M, M/F, oral, anal, BDSM, sub/dom, drug use (kind of). This one has a bit of everything. XD

Enjoy, and please don't shout at me!

* * *

"If we have even one more briefing or meeting in the next few days, I am going to puke." Peter laments, flopping on the bed of the spartan room they have been assigned. At least the bed is big enough for the three of them to fit and even move a bit, and the insulation seems good. Hardly a noise has made itself heard after they closed the door. It is definitely a boon.

"I think it's over for now, thank the Ever-Maiden. - Gamora comments, kicking her boots away and stretching - Our diplomats will have quite the meeting schedule for a while more, but at least we are supposed to start doing something useful from tomorrow." she adds with evident relief.  
There is only so much re-hashing of the same issues she can stand before her brain cells start dying of boredom.

The born politicians of the team, instead, seem used to that sort of tour de force. Helenai, Saskia, Gladiator and even J'reth have dug in and patiently explained the situation over and over again to different Terran political personalities during the course of the day. Helenai seems quite optimistic about the outcome of the preliminary talks, but she is also certain that things will drag along for quite a while before everything is settled.

Speaking of what, Ronan and Rocket are still busy with helping the Shields set up a proper video-conference rig for the next day's talks with the Council.  
Gamora would even sit through another talk just to see Nova Prime and High Priestess Derdriyu run metaphoric circles around Fury and his cohorts, but, alas, there is work to do, occurrences to investigate, battle plans to prepare, new comrades to win the trust of...

It would be a bit overwhelming in itself, even if they didn't also have to make sure that no one caused a diplomatic accident.  
For once Rocket seems peaceful enough, and happy to tinker away with the two SHIELD scientists, but, after Fury's powerplay about Loki, Nebula is still quite upset and angry.

She has lost an arm and a leg, literally, to Everyman's fascination with her flexible bones and Thanos' obsession with making the two of them pay in flesh and blood for their failures, but at least, being a girl and therefore of no interest to Everyman, she has been spared rape, while Loki apparently has received the full treatment.

Nebula found him by happenstance after the debacle of the Power Gem, while looking for someone to help her get her revenge on Thanos, and somehow his plight called to whatever kindness and empathy was still left in her after all the Mad Titan had done to wipe it out.  
She helped him keep himself together during the whole Odin impersonation stunt, and helped him accept, at least partially, his nature and heritage, while he helped her acknowledge her losses and express her grief, and reconstruct her self-worth as something other than a tool for Thanos to use. They were probably the only thing that kept the other alive and sane through that time.

Only Nebula truly knows how close Loki was to snapping completely, and how much pain is hidden under that calm mask of his. She knows the full story, she has lived through a similar one, as Gamora herself and Ronan have to a certain extent, and it has pained and angered her in equal measure to see Loki treated like that by the Terrans, to see them doubt him, and question him, and force him to be a victim all over again.

It has been painful to watch even for the rest of them, and unnecessary, because Fury could have damn well waited for the paperwork. It has soured Gamora's mood considerably, to say the least.

Thankfully not all the Terrans have proven to be so stubborn and insensitive as Director Fury.  
Vision and Wanda have shown great kindness and understanding towards Loki, and the two of them and Thor have done their best to make him feel less unwelcome and isolated. Coulson's grudging acceptance too must have meant a lot for the Jothunn.  
By dinnertime at least he didn't look like he was ready to jump off the Bifrost all over again.  
Things will get better with time, Gamora tells herself, but in the meantime they will have to look out for Loki and Nebula even more than they usually do.

Having a family is as complicated as it is rewarding, she muses as she too flops on the bed next to Peter.  
Back then, in the days of her bondage to Thanos, she didn't have to worry about anyone but herself. She had been totally self-reliant and independent, and utterly isolated from the rest of the living, sentient beings of the Universe.  
She had though that it made her strong, because that was what Thanos had trained her to think, but it was a misconception.  
Selfishness is easy and cheap, a coward's way of avoiding the duty that each individual has to their kin. It is a hollow, brittle kind of strength, an illusion of control, a wilful mutilation of the self.  
Kinship and kindness require trust, instead. They require a person to be wise and brave enough to open themselves up to another, to give as well as to take. Therein lies true strength.

She would have never known any of this if not for Peter, Ronan and the Guardians, and now her family has expanded into some sort of messy tribe, and it seems that her heart has slowly expanded with it. She knows it makes a tempting target, but she cannot help herself. She needs them, and she knows they need her, and it makes her feel good, important and loved.

"So many stormy thoughts in your lovely head..." Peter croons, trying to smooth the frown away from her brow with a caress.  
"Do you want to talk about them?" he asks, enveloping her in his arms.  
Gamora snuggles against him, sticking her nose in his neck. Even after a hard day, he still smells good enough to eat.  
"The sum total of them is that I love you and Ronan, and I like to have a family." she reveals, kissing his neck  
"And that is a bad thing because...?" Peter asks, half joking, half genuinely worried.

"It is not a bad thing." Gamora replies, raking her nails lightly up and down the back of his neck. Peter shivers and closes his eyes with a sigh of contentment, all worries forgotten for the time being.  
"It is the most wonderful thing that happened to me. Sometimes I still struggle to believe it is true, that is all." she adds, kissing him on the lips.  
"In that case, let me refresh your memory." Peter retorts, rolling on top of her, and kissing her back, nice and slow and deep.

Gamora can feel his erection dig into her tigh through his clothes.  
"Someone's all worked up already..." she teases, grinding herself against him with a playful smile.  
"After a week in the Milano, with that tiny bed and those paper-thin walls, yes. - he replies, grinding back - I am not very good at looking without touching." he admits.  
Gamora grins and twists her hips, rolling on top of him.  
"I'll keep this in mind, for the next time you feel like being topped." she says, rolling her hips over his.

Peter jerks his hips in pleasure and grins back.  
"You know I don't mind looking, if it's you and Ronan I am looking at." he retorts.  
"So are you up for it?" Gamora asks, slowing her movements to the barest teasing undulation.  
It took her a while to realise that she wanted her partners to top her, and a while more to feel safe enough to let herself go, so she appreciates the amount of trust Peter is showing them in allowing her, and ideally Ronan, to top him in bed.

"I won't say it is not tempting... But I was rather hoping that we would top Ronan together, tonight. - Peter retorts - Tell me you were not thinking about it too."  
"I was. Ever since we arrived on Terra this morning, to be honest. - Gamora admits - I was worried to begin with, but when he said he was just high... I must admit I was... tempted." she whispers in his ear.  
"I only realised tonight at dinner. - Peter confesses - He was concentrating so hard on that fish and chips that it looked like he was doing a meditation exercise, instead of eating, so I asked what was wrong." he explains.  
"And did he tell you?" Gamora asks with a harder roll of her hips.  
Peter hisses and nods.  
"He said he was all horny and out of control, that he had been since arriving here, because of the air. - he reveals - He said he couldn't wait for us to do something about it... I told him we would." he adds.  
Gamora groans and closes her eyes, feeling a shiver of anticipation course through her. Of course her boyfriend profits from her moment of distraction to roll back on top of her with a wide grin.  
"It would be cruel to deny him, don't you think?" he teases.  
"Far too cruel." she agrees.  
"We have a plan, then?" Peter asks.  
"I think we do." Gamora confirms with a smirk.

Ronan comes through the door about half an hour later, walking quietly and almost shyly into the room.

The lights are dimmed, and a vial of oil and a few other things have been laid out on the bedside table.  
Gamora and Peter are sitting on the bed, waiting for him.  
They are still fully dressed and have done their best to look like they are calm and fully in control, even though this is not strictly true. They have been waiting for him for a while, thinking of all the nice, pleasurable things they can do to him, and Gamora feels like she is going crazy with anticipation.

Ronan stops in his tracks in front of the bed. His respirator mask is still in place, but Gamora can see that his face is already flushed with desire and his eyes shine with anticipation.  
"I am sorry I kept you waiting." he says quietly, but doesn't move.  
"Then come here, bluebell. Don't make us wait more." Peter encourages him, patting a hand on the mattress between himself and Gamora.

Ronan nods in acquiescence, then closes the distance between him and the bed in a couple of strides. He doesn't sit on the bed with them, though, but kneels on the ground between them. His hands move to the fastenings of the mask, to take it off, but Gamora raises from the bed and takes hold of one of his wrists, stopping him in his tracks.  
"Not yet, my love. - she chides - We need to know what is that you want before you are too inhebriated to know it yourself." she adds gently.  
"I want you. I have been fighting to control myself ever since we landed this morning, and it has become harder and harder with every breath of Terran air I took. - he rasps, looking at her with raw, naked desire - I don't want to fight anymore. I want to surrender to you." he whispers.  
Gamora feels a shiver go through her at his words, and Peter actually whimpers. So much for looking like they are in control, she thinks. They have barely started and her heart is already pounding with desire.

"Same conditions as last time, right? No bondage and no bloodplay?" Peter asks.  
Ronan nods.  
"Don't think we are going to go easy on you, though, bluebell. - Peter warns - There are still a lot of things we can do to make you feel so good you'll be begging for mercy... Would you like that?" he adds with a predatory smile.  
Ronan nods again almost frantically.  
"I do, meryw-i... please..." he whimpers.  
"Then this has to go." Peter declares, undoing the clasp on Ronan's mask and gently pulling it off their lover's handsome face. He lays it on the bed and leans back, and they watch intently as the Kree's pupils go wide and his gaze becomes even more hazy and unfocused with lust. It is beautiful.

"It's already affecting you, is it not?" Gamora purrs. She pushes his hood down and traces her fingertips over his scalp. Ronan gasps and arches back, eyes squeezed shut.  
"It is! - he exclaims - Oh, Pama! It feels..." he starts to say, but Gamora's fingers trace another path down his scars and his words devolve into whimpers.  
"So excess oxygen doesn't just make you horny... It also gives you hyperaesthesia..." Peter comments with satisfaction. His fingers join Gamora's and glide over the Kree's exposed skin, blazing new trails of pleasure.  
"I am afraid it does..." Ronan manages to say, failing to repress a shiver. His cheeks are flushed dark blue with arousal and his voice is already hoarse.

Gamora exchanges a long glance with Peter. They don't need words to formulate a new plan.  
"This is definitely something we can work with..." she says at the end. They were thinking more about some old-fashioned slap-and-tickle, but it seems that plain tickling will work just as fine, or even better.  
She nods to herself and deftly unzips her lover's hoodie, sliding it off his shoulders.  
She likes the idea of watching him lose himself to pure pleasure, uncontaminated by pain.

The hoodie hits the floor. Peter helps her make short work of the buttons of his shirt, and then it too is discarded on the ground, leaving Ronan naked from the waist up.  
Burn scars pattern his chest and abdomen, still dark, but no longer painful. In a few months they will be gone, leaving his skin the same pristine blue as before, but they are still tender and sensitive even in normal circumnstances.  
Gamora picks one that curls along his ribs and almost reaches his nipple, and traces it with gentle fingers, drinking in the soft sounds that escape from his parted lips and in the play of twitching muscles under his skin.  
Peter follows her suit, exploring his body with a gentle, chaste touch, enjoying its smooth coolness and its barely contained strength.

Ronan is breathing hard already, his hands are clenched tight at his sides and shake minutely with the effort of keeping still, his manhood is hard and twitching, and strains against the fabric of his trousers.  
He is undeniably beautiful like that, and though Gamora knows that she should prolong the wait and the anticipation, she cannot resist the pull of her own desire. She slides off the bed and kneels on the ground next to him. Their lips meet in a hard, hungry kiss, and he moans against her mouth, overcome by the intensity of the feeling.

What sweet sounds he makes! They only become sweeter when she moves away from his kiss-swollen lips and trails her mouth down his chin and neck, and then across his broad shoulders.  
"Your scars... are you alright with me kissing them?" she manages to ask, nearly panting with arousal herself.  
"Yes! - Ronan moans, arching once more - Please, merit! I'd love for you to do it..." he adds.  
Gamora lowers her head towards his chest and places a tentative, gentle kiss on one of the patches of dark, ropy flesh. His right hand twitches, as if he wanted to touch her or hold her down, but didn't quite dare. She takes his hand in hers and guides it to the back of her head.  
"It's alright." she says, briefly looking up at his face before bending again to her task.  
Ronan whispers something under his breath, and threads his fingers into her hair, holding her against him with a gentle, firm grip as she kisses and licks her way down, following the patterns of pain that Everyman has etched onto him and reconsecrating them to pleasure.

Peter is doing the same on the other side of his chest, and Ronan is starting to have trouble keeping still under the double onslaught. His back arches and his hips buck more and more desperately as they work their way lower and lower down his torso, and by the time Peter undoes the top button of his fly to reach the end of a particularly wicked mark, Ronan is trembling and gasping without restrain, and nearly lying in a heap on the floor.

"Gods, bluebell... - Peter groans - I love how sensitive you are tonight... It feels like we could make you come without even touching you there..." he whispers, inching his hand closer to the Kree's twitching manhood.  
It takes him a few gasping tries, but somehow Ronan manages to reply.  
"It's... it's possible." he gasps, trying to buck his hips against Peter's touch.  
"Uhmm... We must be doing something wrong, if you're still able to string a sentence together... - the Terran comments, taking his hand well away from where Ronan would like it - What do you think, Gamora?"  
"I think you're right. We can do better. - she replies, pinning Ronan down with a heavy gaze - We should move to the bed, to begin with." she proposes.

Both Peter and Ronan nod, and they end up guiding the Kree to sit on the edge of the bed.  
"What now?" Peter asks, letting her take the lead.  
"These need off." Gamora replies, pointing at his half-undone trousers.

They take their time.  
His boots go first, allowing them to lavish their attention on his feet, and Gamora absolutely loves how his face contorts into a grimace of agonised pleasure and how he struggles to be still as they ordered him.  
"Does it tickle?" she asks.  
"No... - he pants - It's... it's good..."  
Gamora makes a pleased sound low in her throat and rakes her fingernails over the soft skin of his instep.  
This earns her a startled sound, halfway between a gasp and a shout, and makes him buck ever harder.

"And this?" she asks, trying to sound casual.  
This time he only manages to shake his head, trembling all over. It seems like they are on the right track now.  
She does it again, and again, and Peter helps her torment him, and more gasp-shouts pour from his lips, and then whimpers. Ronan holds the edge of the mattress with a white-knuckled grip, eyes screwed shut, mouth slack.  
"Do you want more?" she asks. The only answer is an incoherent string of pleas and curses in High Kree. She decides to take it as a yes.

Gamora feels her own desire pulse between her legs as she picks herself up from the ground and pushes him to lie down on the bed.  
Peter undoes the remaining buttons of his fly with deft, if slightly shaking fingers. As usual, Ronan has not bothered with underwear, and his manhood springs free, fully erect and flushed with blood. Even though he tries again to buck into Peter's touch, the Terran is still determined to deprive him of that kind of stimulation, for now, and steers his fingers clear from his straining cock.

Working together, Peter and Ganora pulls the trousers slowly down the Kree's legs, teasing every inch of blue skin they uncover with fingers, lips and tongue. It is a slow, leisurely exploration, and Gamora allows herself plenty of time to savour every feeling. She traces the hard muscles in his tighs and calves, and wonders at the sharp, almost elegant shape of the bones in his ankles, and at the softness of the skin in the hollow of his knees.

Ronan spreads his legs for them, silently begging for even more, and  
little by little, they allow themselves to inch closer to the target, mouthing at his inner tighs and teasing the underside of his buttocks, but without actually touching him where he wants them to.  
Gamora is aching to touch him, to hold his heavy balls in her hand, to stroke his leaking cock, and kiss him to completion, but she bides her time. She wants more from him before she can do that.

Their breath ghosts over his heated, sensitized flesh, their hands tease and retreat. Ronan strains, tossing his head on the bed and balling his hands on the sheets. A fine sheen of sweat has broken out on his skin, and Gamora leans over to lick it off his chest, then on the spur of the moment breaks their unspoken rule of not touching any of his favourite bits, and takes one of his nipples in her mouth, sucking the saltiness from it.

Ronan makes a soft keening noise of raw need, and all of a sudden his resistance breaks.  
"Please, meryw... please!" he begs, writhing helplessly on the bed.  
"Please what?" Peter rasps, nearly out of control himself.  
"Touch me!" Ronan manages.  
"Touch you where? - Peter insists - Your arm? Your leg?" he asks, moving one of his hands accordingly, while the other keeps teasing him mercilessly.  
The Kree shakes his head in desperation.  
"Your dick?" the Terran asks finally, wrapping his hand around the twitching, jerking organ and squeezing it firmly.  
Ronan lets out a wail of tormented pleasure and tries to buck into his hand, but Peter presses a hand on his hips and orders him to stay still.  
"Is this what you want?" he asks, giving him another, much milder squeeze.  
The Kree nods frantically. "Yes! Yes! Please, meri! More!" he gasps  
Peter obliges him. His cock is already leaking, and pulsates in time with his wild heartbeat. He is very close.

"Do you want to come? Do you want us to make you?" Gamora asks, retaking the lead.  
"Please!" Ronan begs.  
"If you surrender now, like this, you will have to make it up for us later, do you realise it? Do you still want it?" she insists.  
"Yes, yes! I... I need... - he groans - Can't... can't resist."

She exchanges a quick glance with Peter, torn between wanting to watch him stroke their lover to completion, and wanting to bring him to extasy herself.  
Peter gives her a pleading look and lets go of Ronan's cock. It seems like the decision is out of her hands.  
Gamora replaces his hand with hers, and bends her head to lick a drop of clear fluid off the tip.  
"Hold his hands down" she tells Peter. She actually likes to have his hands in her hair, but at the moment this is not about what she likes, but about the illusion of control. They have it, and he doesn't. It seems to suit Ronan just fine.

Peter blocks Ronan's arms above his head and turns to her with an expectant, needy look. Gamora smirks and gives Ronan's cock another lazy lick, looking at him while she does it. Twin groans escape from her lovers. She has them both in her power, and it feels amazing.

"You will scream for me." she tells Ronan, knowing that he will regardless of what she says. It's still about the illusion of control.  
The Kree tries to verbalise his agreement, but she finally takes him in her mouth, and any words he might have meant to say die on his lips, only to be replaced by wordless noises of pleasure.

Gamora sets a fast, demanding pace, fucking him hard with her mouth, while he writhes helplessly under her. A few pulls are all it takes, and he tenses up, mouth open in a hoarse, breathless scream as he spends himself with hard, convulsive jerks of his hips. Gamora takes it all, until he can give her no more, and finally releases his softening cock with a last loving lick.

She looks up, licking her lips.  
Ronan is almost KO with the intensity of his peak, his eyes are half-closed and he is gasping to catch his breath. She will have to wait at least a bit before she can torment him again, but Peter on the other hand... he is looking at her with unrestrained arousal, and she can tell that he too wants to lose control, tonight. He is ripe for the taking, and Gamora finds herself wanting to seize that opportunity.

"Rest now, my love... - she whispers to Ronan, making a show of giving him a languorous, sloppy kiss - I will look after Peter for a bit, while you get your strength back." she adds, casting the Terran a calculated glance.  
Peter looks at her like a rabbit caught in hypnotic gaze of a snake.

She crawls on the bed towards him, making up her plan as she goes.  
"Get off the bed." she orders, trying to keep her voice sharp and decisive.  
Peter backs off the edge and stands, tense with anticipation.  
"Your clothes. Take them off." she continues.  
Her lover obeys, stripping as quickly as he can and letting his clothes fall to the floor. Gamora lets him, she has a few ideas to make him appreciate the pleasure of taking things slowly.

Soon he is standing naked before her, amd she takes a moment to swipe a slow gaze all over his body, taking in every detail of his athletic form. He is beautiful, with his pink-tan skin flushed with arousal, and the soft burnished golden curls that litter his chest and trail down to form a thicket around his bobbing, erect cock.  
"You have become hard like this just from seeing him come?" she asks, trailing a finger over it.  
"And from watching you make him..." Peter replies hoarsely.  
"Do you want me to make you come too?" she continues, encircling it with her hand and giving it a gentle stroke.  
Peter makes a low, throaty sound and nods.  
"Yes, please." he replies, like the good boy he can be when he wants to.  
"Very well. I will. - Gamora replies - I am not going to make it easy for you, though. There are going to be rules." she warns, stroking him all the while.  
"OK. Tell me." Peter encourages her.

"You are not allowed to touch yourself unless I say so. - she enumerates, taking hold of his balls with her free hand - You are also not allowed to come until I say so." she adds.  
"W-whatever you say." he stammers, eyes wide and wild.  
Gamora leans towards the bedside table and picks up one of the red silken ribbons she has placed there just in case.  
"And, finally, you're going to wear this to make sure that you don't. - she adds, touching the ribbon to his manhood - Are you alright with these terms?" she asks.  
Peter shivers in a mixture of anticipation and extreme arousal. His cock jumps in her hand.  
"I am." he replies.

Gamora expertly ties the ribbon around the base of his cock, then loops it around each of his balls individually, forcing them away from the base of his cock and from each other. She works carefully, making sure that the ribbon is tied snugly enough to be effective, but not too tight to actually hurt him. The final result is quite enticing. His cock stands even prouder, and his whole body trembles from the feeling of being trapped and owned.

"How does it feel? Does it hurt?" she asks.  
"No... - he replies hoarsely - It feels like I'm going to burst." he confesses.  
"You are not, at least for a while, I can guarantee you. - Gamora retorts, fondling him gently but mercilessly - On you knees, now." she orders.  
Peter obeys, carefully sinking to the floor in front of her.

When she had decided to wear her skirt for the landing that morning she wasn't really thinking about any of this, but now she is glad that she has, because it plays so well into her hands, allowing her to display her control over the scene.  
She sits on the edge of the bed and slides her hands under her skirt, taking her sensible, comfortable cotton panties off while Peter watches her, totally entranced, then throws them away, aiming towards her luggage, and spreads her legs, resting her feet on the edge of the bedframe and gripping the edge of the mattress for support.  
"Do you want me to...?" Peter rasps, licking his lips in anticipation.  
Gamora nods firmly.  
"Yes, beloved. I do." she confirms.

She grabs hold of his hair and gently guides him to bend his head between her legs. Even if her hold is mostly symbolic, he doesn't even try to resist: he is as eager as she is, maybe more, and bends to his task without complaint.

Gamora can feel his warm breath on her wet folds, she represses a shiver and tries to steel herself for what is to come. She needs to stay in control of herself, if she is to control her two lovers, she cannot let go and allow herself to peak before she is finished with the two of them, she reminds herself.

It is easier said than done, though, especially because Peter is a big fan of oral sex, and knows her and her reactions almost as much as he knows himself. His clever mouth lavishes its attention on all the right spots, licking, sucking, nibbling even, and it sends ripples of pleasure all over her, making her breath hitch, her legs tremble and her core nearly drip with wetness.  
He sucks on her clit and her back arches. She bites her lips to prevent herself from moaning out loud and presses his head down even harder, unwilling to let him see how much it is affecting her. It only makes Peter moan against her flesh, and try all the harder to please her, though. He enjoys the fact that she is enjoying it.

Gamora grits her teeth and forces herself to endure just a bit longer, to take just a bit more pleasure from him before she orders him to stop. It's as if she is playing a game of chicken with herself. She doesn't want to stop too early and deny herself pleasure, but she doesn't want to stop too late and spoil the game for everyone.

The tidal wave of pleasure rises higher and higher within her. She focuses on her breathing and waits until she is close, very close, but not close enough that she won't be able to pull back, and her nerve endings feel on fire and...  
"Stop!" she orders (more like gasps), pulling Peter's head back. Thankfully he stops immediately, and kneels back, looking at her like a dog waiting for orders.  
Gamora allows herself a moment to just breathe and get the pulsating ache between her legs under control.  
"On the bed." she finally says.

Peter crawls obediently on the mattress, lying down on his back to one side of where Ronan is still sprawled in recovery.  
His cock looks lovely all hard and twitching and bound, like a present waiting to be unwrapped. Gamora wants to feel him inside her, but now she is not yet fully back in control of herself, and it is not the right time to move towards the endgame yet, so she does the next best thing she can think of.

"I want you to tell me when you are close." she orders, taking the oil bottle from the stand and uncorking it with slow deliberate movements.  
"Your pleasure is under my control, not yours." she continues.  
Peter nods and hisses in pleasure when she drips oil on his cock and his balls and starts massaging it slowly into his skin.  
She strokes his cock in long, lazy pulls, and fondles his taut balls with her other hand until he is whimpering under his breath, then lets it slide even lower, oiled fingers teasing his perineum and playing with his puckered entrance.

The boys have told her about the most recent developments in their relationship, and she has seen for herself that Peter is willing to experiment in that sense, but she still asks for his explicit consent before acting.  
"Are you alright with me doing this to you?" she says.  
Peter nods, wide-eyed and eager.  
"I'm cool... Just not gonna last long if you do." he pants.  
"You will resist." she orders, slowly, carefully slipping her finger inside him, wary of hurting him.

The noises he makes are only of pleasure, though, and emboldened, Gamora lets her touch on his cock become firmer and slips a second finger in, slowly spreading him.  
She alternates her ministrations, allowing him to concentrate on one feeling, and then suddenly depriving him of it, only to switch to another, so that he is constantly on the brink of something, but never close enough to fall, and it is driving him wild. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and his body arches and bucks.

Gamora relishes in the sight and in the sounds he is making, they are enough to make her own pleasure build up in her. She is thinking about asking him how he wants to come, secretly hoping that he will let her continue to touch him like this and watch him come, when she becomes aware of an extraneous sound, a moan but in a deeper tone than Peter's ones.

She turns towards the sound, letting go of Peter for a moment. Ronan looks at her with wide, dark eyes, an embarrassed expression on his face. One of his large, strong hands is wrapped around his cock, and he is frozen mid-stroke. The sight pleases her more than she would have thought.

"That's cheating." Peter comments groggily.  
"Yes, it is. - Gamora confirms - It's not fair for you to seek your own pleasure like that, beloved." she chides, disentangling herself from Peter and crawling towards the Kree.  
Ronan drops his hand, even as his cock twitches in anticipation.  
"You two are so beautiful, meryw-i... I... I couldn help myself... - he explains weakly - I didn't want to interrupt..." he adds, but his words are broken off by a strangled cry when she slaps his greedy cock hard enough to sting.

"Excuses won't save you. - she cuts him off - You will have to make penance." she adds with another slap.  
The Kree gasps again, but nods.  
"It's fair. I deserve it." he rasps, going along with the game.  
Gamora slaps him again, and then some more, a few times in a row, leaving him gasping and twitching and barely able to open his eyes.  
"If I didn't know you are too honest for this, I'd think you did it on purpose, to make me punish you..." she comments, calming him down with gentle strokes.  
"I didn't. I swear." Ronan manages to say.  
"I believe you. That's why I will make your path to pleasure even more winding and agonising than Peter's." she replies with a smile and another, lighter slap.

"Peter, come here and help me." she orders, and the Terran promptly obeyes, gingerly kneeling next to her.  
"What's the plan?" he asks. He seems very happy to have the chance to top Ronan again.  
"Make him beg for release, over and over. I like the sound of it." she replies, looking at Ronan as she speaks.  
"I have something that might help us." Peter comments smugly, running his hands lovingly over their lover's hips. The Kree groans. Maybe he knows what Peter is talking about, or maybe it's just his hyperaesthesia. Either way, the plan is already working.  
"Go get it, then." Gamora orders, striving to hide her own anticipation.

The Terran slides off the bed and starts to rummage in his luggage, then still with a triumphant little shout and returns. In his hands is a strange contraption, shaped a bit like a squattish, slender, round-tipped cone ending in a thin neck followed by a flared, flat cap. It is made of some sort of dark, vibrant red plastic, mostly smooth, but with a rough-ish wavy pattern etched on one side near the tip.

"What is this?" Gamora asks, slightly perplexed.  
"This is an anal plug. One of my ex girlfriends liked these sort of things. I bought it before Helenai's wedding, but we never managed to try it out. - Peter explains - It doesn't do much on its own, but it'll make him unable to stop thinking about it..." he adds quietly, sliding the tip of the plug over Ronan's groin. The Kree looks at him with a mixture of worry and desire, but ultimately desire wins and he spreads his legs a bit more, nodding quietly.

"Do it." Gamora orders. She sits back on her haunches and watches Peter pour oil over his hands and slick Ronan up for the taking, pumping, sliding, scissoring his fingers inside him.  
She watches Ronan fall apart more and more as Peter him patiently spreads him. His cock and his balls glisten with oil from where Peter has been touching him to take him off the edge, and his legs tremble with pleasure.

He is ever beautiful in his surrender, and when finally Peter slides the plug inside him, slowly pushing it in until his entrance clenches around the indentation, Gamora waits a long moment before stepping in, entranced by the slack, ecstatic expression on his face and by the minute jerks and twitches of his hips as his body tries to adjust to the foreign invasion.

"How does it feel?" she asks, placing a hand on his belly to force him into stillness.  
"Ah! Good! - the Kree exclaims - It feels good!"  
"No pain?" she insists.  
"No!" he gasps.  
"You will tell me if it becomes painful. - she instructs - And you will use the safe word if it becomes too much in any way." she adds.  
Ronan nods in agreement.  
"I will." he says.

Gamora trails a finger up his cock. He twitches and groans as his inner muscles contract around the plug. It gives her ideas.  
"Kneel on the bed, Peter, hands behind your head. - she barks - You can't touch yourself or him until I say so." she adds. Forced to watch without touching, and held close to the brink by his trussed-up cock, Peter will know torment as well.

"Now, beloved, are you ready? - she asks Ronan, kneeling between his spread legs - I will slap you, and you will have to keep count of the blows, alright?" she proposes.  
Ronan nods, twitches, groans again and Gamora lets fly, not hard, but a solid hit that makes his cock bob sideways and his whole body arch and clench. He cries out, surprised by the intensity of his own pleasure, but still manages a trembling "One!".  
"Good. - she says, rubbing a hand soothingly on his hip - Let's see how many you can take." she adds, and resumes her task.

By the time she gets to five, broken declarations of love fall from his lips in between the numbers, and by the time she hits ten he is tossing on the bed, face screwed in a grimace, lost to an agony of pleasure.  
It takes only a couple more before he starts begging her.

"Oh, merit! Please! Let me come! - he pleads - I can't take it anymore, I need to... Ah!" he shouts when she slaps him nonetheless, unheeding of his pleas, even though she knows she can only stretch the game this far. A drop of clear fluid is already welling at the tip of his cock, if she teases him any further he won't be able to resist.  
"Hold on, beloved. Hold on. - she encourages him - Resist for me. Just a little bit more." she promises. Her hands flit to his chest and arms and sweat-beaded face, caressing chastely and tenderly and she can see him pull back from the edge with iron determination.

"Good... good, my beloved. I knew you could resist. - she praises him, bending her head to kiss him lightly on the lips - I need you to wear this, now, like Peter is doing. Do you think you can?" she asks, pulling out another silken ribbon.  
Ronan nods weakly, slightly overwhelmed.  
"I... I do." he agrees.

"Very well." she comments, deft fingers working the ribbon in precise loops around his balls and his cock. He is much farther gone then Peter was when she tied him up, and, to be honest, quite a bit bigger, so the effect is even more striking.  
She gives his jutting cock an experimental stroke, and he whimpers helplessly, but resists.  
"Stay here for me, just a moment more. - she commands - I will take care of Peter, and then I will give you more pleasure than you can imagine, alright?" she proposes.  
"A-alright." he manages to stammer.

Gamora leaves him be, knowing that he won't transgress again, and turns towards Peter, who is still where she has left him last, still bound by her will.  
What she has done to Ronan has affected him, and now he is shivering and jerking his hips, his cock so engorged with blood that it seems ready to burst at any moment.  
"D-do you like to see us l-like this?" he manages to ask, casting a long, hungry glance at Ronan.  
"I do." she admits, pushing on his back until he sinks on his hands and knees, legs spread.

She pours more oil on her hands and spreads it on his buttocks and entrance, massaging his tense, quivering balls with each pass.  
"And do you like being like this? Spread out and tied up, ready for the taking? - she asks, slipping her fingers in him again - Do you like to surrender?" she insists.  
She has already worked him loose earlier, so now it is easy to loosen him up even further, until he can easily take three of her fingers.  
"I do. - he gasps between moans - I belong to you two. No big deal." he adds with a certain effort.  
"Good. Do you want to come, my beloved Star-Lord?" she asks.  
Peter nods, pushing back hard against her fingers.  
"Gods, please!" he exclaims.  
"Ronan, come here and make him." Gamora commands, much to the boys' delighted astonishment.

"I... Are you sure?" Ronan manages to ask, even though his abused cock is twitching like mad, probably aching to be buried inside the Terran's warm hole.  
"I am. - Gamora confirms with a nod, squeezing her legs together to give her poor, frustrated pussy some relief - I want you to take him and fuck him slowly until he comes. Can you do this for me?" she asks.  
Ronan hesitates, regarding them in silence.  
"Please, bluebell! - Peter exclaims, arching beautifully when she curls her fingers inside him, hitting his sweet spot - Oh, Gods! Please! I need you! Fuck me! Please! Make me come for you!" he pleads brokenly, now firmly stuck in subspace.  
"Will this be enough to push Ronan into some sort of dominant role?" Gamora asks herself.

Ronan curses under his breath, and pushes himself to his knees to crawl towards Peter.  
"You're still not allowed to come." Gamora clarifies, letting go of Peter  
"You aren't either." Ronan retorts.  
There is a determined glint in his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw. The answer to her question seems to be yes, she notices with delight.

She nods and sits back again, to watch Ronan kneel on the bed and then rearrange an unresisting Peter into straddling his lap, facing him.  
Peter's legs tremble, barely supporting him, so Ronan bodily lifts him, lining him up, and slowly, gently sinks into him. Peter moans, his head thrown back in utter abandonment, his hands clenched on Ronan's shoulders, while Ronan's face is hidden in the crook of Peter's neck, and the Kree is whispering endearments and praise to help his lover resist the overwhelming feeling and adjust to the invasion.  
It seems to work, because eventually he is fully sheathed in, and Peter is practically hanging limp and shaking in his arms, whimpering in bliss and torment with every breath.  
Ronan doesn't allow him much time to rest, though, and soon starts to move, gently rocking into him as he holds him in his arms.  
Gamora would have thought that he would rush into things, trying to bring relief to both as quickly as possible, but he keeps the rythm of their lovemaking torturously slow and whispers words of love into Peter's ear as he inches him closer and closer to rapture.

Peter writhes and whimpers, and Gamora whimpers too, nearly overwhelmed by desire in turn.  
They always look to her like the most beautiful thing in the Universe, but now they are especially exquisite and she has to exert a tight control on herself to stay put and avoid interfering or touching herself to relieve the pressure that she feels builing inside her.

"I'm close... so close... please, let me come!" Peter pleads, but Ronan doesn't speed up, and doesn't free his lover's cock either. He just grits his teeth and continues to rock their bodies together.  
Peter continues to beg and plead, and finally starts to cry. Tears run from the corner of his eyes even as he moans in ecstasy, and finally Ronan slides a hand between their bodies and unties the now-ruined silken ribbon from around Peter's cock.  
"You can come now, meri. - he whispers - Come for me. Let me look at you." he entreats, pushing once more into him, but Peter is beyond words now.  
His back arches and his eyes nearly roll back into their sockets. He comes long and hard, shaking and gasping soundlessly, and Gamora nearly comes herself just from seeing him so lost.

She clenches her fists so hard that her fingernails bite into the palms of her hands, and closes her eyes, trying to concentrate on her breathing, but, even so, she only barely manages to pull herself back from the brink and kneels there, aching and dripping wet, her inner muscles pulsating and fluttering, as Ronan disentangles himself from Peter, laying him down gently on the bed and then turns towards her, still hard and imposing and trembling with desire.

He crawls towards her, and pushes her down to lay on her back. Gamora closes her eyes in an ecstasy of submission, and spreads her legs for him, exposing herself shamelessly.  
A finger traces her swollen, drenched folds.  
"I am close..." she whimpers helplessly.  
"Take your seal off me and I will give you all the pleasure you can take." Ronan retorts, unclasping her top to let her breasts spill out of its confines.  
Gamora nods and lets him help her to sit down on the bed. Her fingers fly to the knot and the ribbon slips off like an afterthought, freeing him at last. He hisses and closes his eyes, and Gamora senses an opportunity to regain the upper hand, but strong fingers close around her wrist before she can put in action her plan of stroking him into renewed submission, and a strong hand pushes her back onto the bed.

Ronan kneels between her parted legs, sliding his arms below her knees and helping her as she lifts her hips to line herself up with him.  
He sinks inside her with a smooth, glorious push, crying out in ecstasy and tearing an identical cry from her lips.

She feels raw, hypersensitive, nearly overwhelmed by his sheer size and girth, and when he pulls out and snaps his hips back into her again, she shouts even louder.  
"I-I am not... I am not going to l-last." she pants in the subsequent pause.  
"Neither am I." Ronan admits, pressing his forehead against hers. He is shaking, and his cock is twitching inside her, sending sparks of ecstasy to fuel the fire roaring inside her.

He straightens and grabs her ankles, pushing her knees closer to her shoulders and nearly bending her in two, and starts fucking her hard and fast and merciless, hitting some secret place inside her that makes her whole body seize up in ecstasy.

She grabs his wrists, holding on tight and screams at every thrust of his hips. The pleasure builds inside her fast and hight, it ramps up inside her, making her screams rise in pitch and volume, just as his thrusts become increasingly desperate.  
He falters, picks up his pace again, heart beating frantic in his chest, she pushes back meeting thrust with thrust and it grows and grows, and suddenly it peaks within her, just as he buries himself in her with a last desperate thrust of his hips.

Her core clenches around his spurting cock and she holds on tight to him as wave after wave of ecstasy wash over her, leaving her too breathless to even scream.  
Small, high-pitched moans pour from her lips as he spends himself inside her, thrusting blindly in a last rush of strength. Her pleasure is being drawn out their pleasure to such impossible heights, that she feels on the verge of saying the safe word and make him stop, as selfish as it might seem, but thankfully that desperate strength finally abandons him.

He withdraws, and they collapse on the bed side by side, limp and too exhausted to even speak. They just hold each other as their hearts slow their frantic beats and revel in each other's closeness.  
It is peace, it is bliss.

They fall asleep for a moment, or at least Gamora does. When she comes to, the bed is gently shifting as Peter drags himself to lie beside them.  
"Gods, guys... - he whispers, settling against Ronan's back - It was..."  
"It was." Gamora agrees. Ronan limits himself to a nod and snuggles closer to Gamora, half-asleep again.

There is another moment of breathless quiet before Peter speaks again.  
"The plug." he says with a certain worry.  
"What about it?" Ronan manages to rasp.  
"It needs off. - Peter explains - You should not sleep with it. It's kind of dangerous." he adds.  
"Kind of?" Ronan retorts.  
"Yeah. The kind of dangerous that lands you in a hospital with embarrassing questions asked." the Terran continues.

Ronan sighs and moves his legs to give him access, flushing hard, once more pushed into his usual subspace.  
"It's alright, beloved." Gamora reassures him, brushing her fingers over his forehead.  
Beyond his shoulder she can see Peter reach down to pull the plug out. Ronan gasps and arches, tensing up.  
"Am I hurting you?" Peter asks.  
Ronan just shakes his head, letting out another soft gasp when Peter shifts the plug again.  
"I need you to relax, or I will end up hurting you." Peter chides.  
"I'm trying!" Ronan gasps, still managing to sound irritated, turning to glare at Peter over his head.

"Hush, beloved... Look at me. - Gamora whispers, making him turn back towards her. - Just look at me and breathe. Yes, just like that." she instructs, and it seems to work, but only until Peter starts working the plug loose again.  
Back are the breathless gasps, the twitch of his hips and the dark flush on his face.  
"Oh... Peter! - he moans - What the hell are you doing?!" he asks with more than a hint of desperation.  
"I am just trying to get this thing off!" the Terran retorts, in equal parts worried and flustered.  
"It feels like I am going to..." Ronan moans, closing his eyes and hiding his face against Gamora's chest.  
The assassin looks down his body at the same time as Peter lifts his head to look over it. Ronan's cock is already hard again, as if he had not just come. This is extraordinary even for Ronan's usually fast recovery abilities. The Terran air is working another small miracle for them.

"Wow! This is... just wow!" Peter comments quietly, a little bit awed.  
"Don't stop, please! - Ronan begs - I'm... I'm close again. I don't know how... I am sorry..." he whispers, breathing hard against Gamora's skin  
"Shh... Don't. It's alright. - Gamora tells him, smoothing her hands down his neck and shoulders - There is nothing to be ashamed about. Just let go." she whispers.  
Ronan nods and holds on to her, shaking and shivering, as Peter finally pops the damned plug out of him and slips his fingers into him in its stead, working them carefully, with a concentrated expression on his face.  
The Kree whimpers in Gamora's arms, and then Peter must find the right spot and he arches, eyes half-shut and unseeing.  
"There?" Peter asks quietly.  
Ronan nods and Peter does it again, making him arch even harder.  
"It's too much... I can't." he whimpers in desperation.  
"You can. - Gamora tells him - Don't fight it. Relax, you can take it." she adds, tenderly kissing his face.  
Peter just snuggles closer against his back, kissing the back of his neck and his shoulders and murmuring soothing words of love as he strokes him over and over, until his quiet whimpers become a wordless, breathless groan and he comes one last time, even harder than before, nearly passing out with pleasure in the embrace of his lovers.

Gamora didn't even know it was possible to cram so much pleasure into one lovemaking session, but it is beautiful, and she feels no shame in saying it.  
She tells her lovers how beautiful and amazing they are, over and over as they clean themselves up as best as they can and settle down to sleep.

They are everything she would have asked for, if she had known she could ask. They are her peace and her reason to fight, breathless laughter and quiet comfort, her greatest worry and her greatest source of strength, her friends, her lovers, her battle-brothers.  
She is lucky to be have them, and she knows it.


	48. Chapter 48

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.**

Hi folks, orry for the delay in posting: I have moved house, then gone on a conference abroad, then on holiday, all in succession, so I didn't have the time or the internet connection required to post anything.

Unfortunately, this is the last chapter I've written so far and I don't think it's likely I will have a new one ready for next month. I have a promotion interview sometime in the summer and I'm quite busy on different projects.  
I have not abandoned this, though. I have plans and I want to finish this, maybe weaving some strands of canon from civil War into it too, if possible.

In this chapter, which sets the scene for the next arc, I am playing it fast and lose with Agents of SHIELD canon, I hope you don't mind.

Thanks a lot for you patience and reviews,

Enjoy!

* * *

"Here is your clearance, folks." the guard announces, handing two lanyards over to Ronan and Loki across the counter.  
The two nod in acknowledgement and examine them for a second before placing the bright orange cord around their necks.

"That should be it. - Coulson announces - We are good to go, right, officer?" he asks to the guard.  
The man grunts. "Knock yourself out. - he says - What is it, a family reunion?" he adds, guffawing to himself.  
The three men ignore him and his crass humour and tap their passes onto the lock. The door slides open with a pneumatic sound, finally letting them into SHIELD's highest security detention facility.

A youngish, ebony-skinned, tall and graceful Terran woman is waiting for them in the small hall at the end of the corridor. She is dressed in a severe but well-tailored black suit, like the rest of the SHIELD operatives and a lanyard dangles from her neck. Her name-tag identifies her as Agent Stella Obayako.  
"Welcome to the New Fridge, Agent Coulson, Ronan of the Guardians and Lopt of Jothunnheim..." she greets, quickly checking her information on the clipboard in her hands.  
She holds out her hand, shaking Coulson's and then Ronan's without the least hesitation. She hesitates a bit before grasping Loki's but eventually does it, shaking it vigorously, much to the Jothunn's amusement.

"Mr Vithek is being brought into the interrogation suite as we speak. - she announces - If you would be so kind to follow me..." she adds, gesturing towards a side corridor and starting to walk in front of them.  
"Nice facility you have here... - Loki comments airily - It seems more secure than the others I saw..."  
Coulson shoots him a dirty look, which Loki promptly ignores, but agent Obayako seems totally oblivious of the subtext. It seems that by using his Jothunnar birth-name, showing his blue aspect and wearing less conspicuous Terran clothes, Loki has become totally unrecognisable. He is surely enjoying himself.

"The old Fridge was a very secure facility, sir, but this is the new state-of-the-art. - she argues - There is even warp-mesh in the walls, to prevent people from teleporting within the facility or out of it." she adds, giving him a sharp look. The smile fades immediately from Loki's face.  
"Ah, not so oblivious, then." Ronan thinks, mentally giving the agent points for catching Loki at his own game.

"How many people do you hold here?" Ronan asks.  
"About sixty, for now, but we have a theoretical capacity of about three hundred." Obayako replies.  
"Are they all in solitary confinement?" he continues.  
"Some of them. - she admits - A few of our inmates are dangerous, deranged psychopaths that would sooner kill you than talk to you. Those we keep locked up at all times." she explains as she leads them down another corridor.  
"Others are just small-time criminals who happen to have superpowers, and for another group of them the problem is more uncontrollable powers, or psychological reactions to abuse and ostracism. - she continues - These two groups are housed in single cells, but we allow them occupational therapy and socialisation. The lower-safety ward must feel more like a safe house than like a prison to some of them." she concludes with a warm smile that lights up her handsome face. She is proud of it, it is plain to see.

"And what about our prisoner? - Coulson asks - How has he been behaving?"  
"Mr Vithek is a model inmate. He has never given us a single problem since he arrived here. - the agent replies with evident pleasure - Maybe he is not the most extroverted person in the low-risk group, but he surely is a composed, kind person, and has formed genuine bonds with some of his fellow inmates." she explains.  
Coulson gives her an amused look. He has told Ronan and Loki about Vithek's capture and he can imagine why it would be difficult for him to imagine the man as kind and composed.

"Have you tried to probe him for information?" Coulson asks.  
Agent Obayako nods curtly. "I have engaged with him myself, trying to win his trust."  
"And what about the results?" Loki asks, casting a piercing glance towards the agent.  
"Quite positive I would say. - she replies without hesitation - He was happy to discuss his ideas and feelings with me. He was more reticent about his past, though. I could hardly get more than snippets." she adds.  
The three men nod to themselves. They could hardly have expected that he would reveal everything to his jailers.

"Here we are. - Agent Obayako announces at the end, stopping in front of a non-descript door - You just need to go through this door and then the next. An agent will guide you to the interrogation room." she explains.  
The three men assent and give her their thanks.  
Coulson is opening the door, when agent Obayako starts speaking again.  
"He doesn't know how he ended up here, and the memories of his past are patchy. I don't know what he has done, and he doesn't either, but I know he has been through a lot already. - she says - Go easy on him, if you can, agents." she pleads.  
"We will do our best, Agent." Coulson replies.

The interrogation room is not very different from any other interrogation room Ronan has seen in his career in law enforcement.  
There are a table and four chairs, bolted to the floor, security cameras bolted high on the walls and angled to cover the whole of the room between them, and a fake mirror. The walls are painted a pale grey-green colour, like toothpaste gone bad, and the floor is grey and slightly plasticky.  
Coulson is sitting in one of the chairs, he and Loki wait behind the mirror for Coulson's signal.

Two agents escort Vithek into the room.  
He is wearing a bright orange-yellow jumpsuit and soft slippers, an attire as far removed as possible from the uniform of an officer of the Kree Empire, but he doesn't seem to mind. His attitude is still collected and dignified, and from what he can see, he seems healthy and uninjured.

The two men shackle Vithek to a metal bar riveted into the surface of the table and leave. The Kree salutes them with a nod, which they return. They must have a serene rapport, in keeping with the Agents's assessment.  
Vithek waits until the door closes shut behind them, then turns towards Coulson.  
A surprised expression comes upon his face.  
"I remember you... - he says - But you were... different the last time I saw you." he adds softly.  
"You are not the only one who can change the colour of his skin, Vithek son of Vryok." Coulson comments calmly.

Upon hearing his correct full name, Vithek looks at him with wide, surprised eyes and instinctively backs off, leaning his back against the backrest of the chair in a much more tense posture.  
"Are you an Accuser?" he asks, speaking to him in Kree.  
Coulson shakes his head, a hint of laughter in his eyes.  
"I am a Shield." he replies in the same language. His accent is worse than Peter's, but he has made fast progress and after little more than a week of instruction is already able to hold basic conversations in the language. Ronan can't help but be proud of his achievement.

"It is the Terran equivalent to the position you held in your system, my friend." he adds, switching back to English.  
Vithek opens his mouth to protest, but Coulson doesn't leave him the chance to do it.  
"I know that you declared to be a risk assessment expert, I read your file. - he declares - I also know that it is not strictly true. You were in the secret services, you were a Watcher. Supreme Accuser Shanleigh let us have a peek at your file in the database up there as well." he reveals.  
Vithek tries to act indifferent, but his complexion has paled to a light blue, only a few shades darker than Coulson's. Extradition must seem a concrete possibility from where he is sitting, and, considering that he is wantes for desertion and possibly treason, it can hardly be a pleasant one.

"I have to adimt that saying that you were a risk assessment expert was a stroke of genius. - Coulson continues in a conversational tone, a small smile playing on his lips - What is our job if not assessing the risk that sonething bad will happen to our countries and acting in consequence?" he comments.  
"What do you want from me?" Vithek asks minutely tensing on the chair, already unnerved by the conversation.  
"We want information." Coulson replies without hesitation.  
"I have already told your colleagues, I don't remember anything about how I ended up a prisoner here. - Vithek explains calmly - I remember you, I remember a fight, but that's about it." he adds, shaking his head.

"We know that, but what you did here on Earth doesn't interest us as much as why you decided to come here. We want to ask you some questions about your work and your contacts in the Kree Empire. You should not have any problems with that, should you?." Coulson replies, still calm as a pond, still smiling.  
He is good at this.

"That is a big assumption. What if my memory was generally damaged by the Inhibitor? - the Kree insists - And at any rate, I am not authorised to tell you a word. What I did for my country is mostly classified information. It would be treason to disclose it." he declares haugtily.  
"It was. - Coulson retorts - We spoke with Lady Shanleigh and Lady Derdriyu and they agreed that due to the gravity of the situation, the information would be declassified. Do you want me to call one of them to hear it from their voice?" he asks, pulling Ronan's comm out of his pocket.  
Vithek shakes his head. His eyes have grown wide and his mask of calm and indifference is slipping away more and more.

"The Accusers are questioning your family and colleagues as we speak. - Coulson reveals - We will get the information we need, one way or the other, but it would be better for you if you volunteered it yourself, if you know what I mean..." he adds, directing a meaningful glance towards the worried Kree.  
"What are you accusing me of?" Vithek asks, looking like he knows that the situation is getting out of hand.

Ronan cannot blame him for that insecurity. Having been held prisoner without knowing what he had done to deserve it, and on a foreign planet to boot must have been hard for him to accept, and now he must be feeling really, really confused and worried about how the Terrans will treat him if he doesn't give them the informations they want.

"Nothing, for now, but the information you have might be crucial to defusing a situation that both my government and yours have deemed high-risk and potentially catastrophic. - Coulson explains - I believe that you had the best interest of your people in mind when you came here, Vithek, and I also believe that you are not a bad person. Help us solve this problem. We are not doing this to screw you over, I promise." he adds gently.

"Your word doesn't mean anything to me." Vithek retorts. Ronan shakes his head and groans inwardly. Why did he have to play the pig-headed-speciesist card just now, after behaving himself with the personnel from the prison?

"No? The word of House Danu doesn't mean anything to you?" Coulson asks, leaning forward on the chair.  
Vithek looks at him in surprise again.  
"On Terra I am known as Phil Coulson, but my second father was Meriadek son of Coehl, from House Danu of Kree-Lar, and, as such, I am the House's last scion." he reveals, proud as any trueborn son of House Danu would have been.

Ronan was as surprised as anyone else to know that the brother of his great-grandfather, who had gone MIA at the beginning of the war with the Nova Empire, had ended up on Terra, but the results of the DNA test were extremely clear. Coulson seems to have accepted them and is slowly coming to terms with the idea of being part Kree now. Clearly he is not above the idea of exploiting the strategic advantages of his position.

Vithek looks at him with a mixture of awe and horror.  
"How?! How is it possible." he rasps.  
"He was a Watcher, like you, and one of the best diplomats of the Kree Empire, I have been told. - Coulson replies - He was sent here by the Council, about seventy years ago, to accelerate the Return and enlist the help of the Lost Ones against the Nova, only there was a war on Terra, and his mission ended before it could start." he narrates, skillfully avoiding the part where he was reborn from deranged science, chimerism and imponderable factors, instead of normal reproduction.

His chimeric organism is literally held together by spit and prayers, but he is fine, better than fine actually, and there is evidence that the two parts of him are gradually adapting to each other, and melding into each other, making him a transitional being that is neither Kree nor Terran, but an almost perfect blend of the two.

Coulson has told them that there are two, maybe three more people on Terra who carry a smaller share of his family's DNA, one of them being a psychopath serving time for several counts of murder, another being an ex SHIELD agent turned family man and all-around good person, and the last being Skye.  
All things considered, Meriadek could have done worse with his descendance. Ronan can almost imagine him smiling proudly from the Field of Reeds.

"It's OK if you don't believe me. I am still struggling to adapt to this knowledge myself. - Coulson continues when Vithek keeps on staring at him in silence - I am sure you will find at least one of my partners more trustworthy." he adds, leaning back to tap gently against the two-way mirror.  
"This is our cue, finally." Loki comments, rolling his shoulders to loosen them.  
Ronan nods and opens the door to the corridor.

The two of them enter the interrogation room like they own the place.  
"What is wrong, cousin?" Ronan asks, crossing his arms and giving Vithek a hard stare.  
Coulson is more like his great-uncle or something like that, but the though makes them both very uncomfortable, so they decided to ignore it. Cousin sounds suitably close and more informal.

"Nothing, so far." Coulson replies. They agreed that Coulson would be the good cop, if only because his short stature, compared to the average Kree, would make him less physically threatening.  
"I believe you already know my cousin, Ronan of the Guardians..." he continues, turning towards Vithek.  
The prisoner blanches really hard.  
His reputation is still intact, it seems, Ronan muses. He has dressed for the part, in leather and black, and his scars make it seem as if he has permanently etched the Blood Tears onto his own flesh. Vithek would have every reason to be afraid of the person he used to be.

"And this is prince Lopt of Jothunnheim. - Coulson continues, nodding his head towards Loki - They have kindly agreed to help us." he adds.  
Loki smiles to the prisoner, and it's not an entirely friendly or sane smile. Vithek recoils a bit more, but being a Watcher, albeit one that deserted his post, he must know how these things work. He is not going to cave in just because of a frown or a creepy smile. They will need to push harder to get something out of him.

"What are these men doing here?" Vithek asks, hanging on to calm for dear life.  
"We are specialists in problem solving, Watcher. - Loki explains, leaning over the table just enough to get in his space - Now that peace has broken out between Nova and Kree and between Spartax and Shi'ar, everybody has agreed that the current one is the biggest problem of all. The question now is: how big a problem are you, my friend? Are you just a dupe or are you his man?" he adds with another of his trademark smiles. When planning the interrogation, they all agreed he was going to be the deranged cop without any argument. Loki is too good at this, though how much of it is an act and how much is the consequence of what he has been through is debatable.

Predictably Vithek turns towards Coulson, who at least seems like a sane, friendly person.  
"Whose man?! - he asks - What are you talking about?!"  
The Agent gives him a long, neutral look.  
"Thanos, my friend. They are talking about Thanos." he explains.  
"Thanos is a legend, something that mothers use to scare their children." Vithek protests.  
"Thanos is real. - Loki retorts in a hiss - And I bet he's been in your head, whispering in your ear and sowing pesky little ideas of genocide and destruction. Maybe not personally, no, you're not enough of a big fish for him to make the effort. He must have sent one of his agents to take care of you, but whom?" he continues, looking at Vithek with glowing red eyes and a considering expression, while he drags a fingertip along the surface of the table, drawing lines of frost that melt almost immediately in the warm air.

"Just by looking at you, I would have bet Everyman... - Loki continues - A tall warrior, and your skin is such a nice shade of blue..." he adds, holding out a hand to try and touch him. Predictably, Vithek recoils, and Loki backs off with a soft little laugh.  
"He would fit the profile." Ronan agrees with a curt nod.  
"But I cannot see any scar and there is nothing of the sort on his file. I am sure my agents would have noticed if it was the case." Coulson argues, looking pensievely at the prisoner.

"What scars? What case? What are you talking about?" Vithek protests.  
The three interrogators exchange a look, then Loki and Ronan pull up their sleeves.  
"These scars." Ronan points out.  
"He liked to use a blowtorch. - Loki continues - I am sure you would remember... Such an exquisite pain..."  
Vithek looks slightly ill at the sight, and raises a confused gaze towards Coulson.

"They were his men too, Vithek. Like you they were deceived into doing horrible things, but they have redeemed themselves by their deeds." Coulson explains calmly.  
"I didn't..." the prisoner protests, but Ronan doesn't let him finish.  
"You did, Vithek son of Vryok. - he declares with his sternest tone, the one that used to make criminals quiver and cringe in fear - You were trying to destroy the Lost Ones. You called them monsters and abominations, like the most deranged cultists lurking in the Empire. You abandoned the path of Ma'at and flew through the Gate to enact your malevolent intentions." he lists, and whether he genuinely doesn't remember or doesn't like to think about it, Vithek seems totally horrified by his crimes.

"I didn't... I can't have... I..." he mutters, shaking his head, but deep down he must remember something, even just a fragment, but enough to give an edge of hopelessness and desperation to his protests. Deep down he knows he has done something terrible, and the knowledge is tearing down his carefully built self-control.

"Listen, Vithek, I know that you would not have done any of this. - Coulson says soothingly - I know you used to be a good man and a good agent, one of the best. I know you were not one of those wacko cultists that hate the Lost Ones. I also know that you suddenly withdrew from your wife and friends, even from your mother, and I know you wouldn't ever leave without telling her." he adds.

At these words, Vithek seems to snap partially out of his funk and looks at Coulson with wide, tear-filled eyes and an expectant expression.  
"Yes, Vithek, your mother Lagertha. - Coulson continues - She is quite an extraordinary woman, and how could she be anything different? It is hard for a woman to raise a son on her own. Your father died when she was expecting you, right?"  
Vithek nods weakly.  
"Is she...? Does she...?" he manages to rasp in a tearful voice.  
"Yes, she is alright, and no, she doesn't know exactly why you have been made a _haaq_. - Coulson replies, gleaning the meaning of his words - We don't want to ruin your life any more than Thanos has already done, my friend. We are on your side. Help us and we will help you." he proposes.

Vithek shakes his head again, making a keening noise under his breath.  
"This is not up to discussion, son of Vryok! - Ronan thunders, hitting his fist on the table and making the Watcher flinch - Phil son of Meriadek captured you in lawful battle. He has been lenient with you so far, but you are his haaq, and as such you are duty-bound to obey!" he shouts.  
"And I would! - Vithek shouts back among tears - I would, but I can't! My mind is damaged! I didn't even remember my mother's name before he said it! I don't... What good am I like this?!" he adds, lowering his head towards the table and covering it with his hands.

"His mind has been tampered with." Loki comments.  
"We already knew that. - Coulson retorts - I wish Sif had not hit him so hard with that stick..."  
"I mean beyond that. - Loki clarifies, slightly piqued - Why would the forgetting stick make him forget something unrelated to the mission like his mother's name? It wouldn't make any sense, but an agent of Thanos would do that, if, say, his mother was a staunch believer in the Return, like she is..." he adds with a knowing smile.  
"Right. - Coulson concedes - Can you fix him?" he asks the Jothunn.  
"Are you asking me to manipulate his mind?!" Loki retorts, pretending to be horrified.  
"Don't tell Clint." Coulson replies.  
"My lips are sealed." Loki confirms.

"Do you think it will work?" Ronan asks.  
Coulson pauses for a moment, then nods.  
"As Fitz is fond of saying, the brain doesn't lose information, just connections. - he says - There is always a backup. All Loki needs to do is to find it and bring it to the surface." he explains.  
Loki snorts rather inelegantly. "Easier said than done, but I will try." he says, then rises from his chair and goes around the table, stopping behind Vithek's chair.  
"Cheer up, warrior of the Empire! - he calls out, patting his hand on the Watcher's shoulder - There might still be hope for you!"  
Vithek immediately raises his head and twists on the chair to look at him.  
"What hope?" he asks.  
"I can try to restore your mind so that you can regain your honour, - Loki proposes - but I doubt it will be pleasant."  
Vithek hesitates barely a moment.  
"I am not afraid of pain or discomfort. My honour is paramount." he replies, like most Kree warriors would.  
"I hoped you would say something like that!" Loki comments cheerfully.  
"Someone please jam that camera. - he instructs, placing his hands on Vithek's temples - We don't really want anyone else to see this." he adds.

Loki is right: it is not pleasant.  
There is quite a bit of shrieking, a lot of whimpering and shaking, some begging and finally a big bout of puking as the Jothunn guides Vithek through the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, coaxing his memories into realigning and reconnecting themselves in the right places.

At the end of it, Loki looks ruffled and dishevelled by the effort of keeping the connection in spite of the Kree's physical thrashing and mental shields, but Vithek looks much, much worse, pale, feeble and wrung out, not very far from being down for the count.

"I remember now." he whispers, flopping bonelessly against the backrest of the chair.  
"Take your time." Coulson says, looking vaguely nauseous himself. It wasn't a nice show.  
"No. There is no time. - Vithek protests - Some water, and I'll tell you everything. It needs out." he rasps.  
Coulson nods and gets some water from the dispenser, pushing the paper cup as close as possible to Vithek's hand, but the Watcher is too weak, his hands are shaking and even lifting the cup to his lips seems too great an effort.  
Coulson sighs and rolls his eyes, but lifts the cup for him and Vithek drinks deeply and gratefully.

Ronan averts his eyes. There is something that hits too close to home in that image of a haaq being tended to by his master, something too similar to what he shares with Peter and Gamora, and it is not the right moment to think that he wants to be bound and aching before them once more...

"Thanks, my Lord." Vithek says, pulling him out of his inappropriate daydream.  
If Coulson feels weird about the Watcher's deference he is very good to hide it, because to Ronan's eyes he looks as comfortable in the role of a _haaq_-master as any Kree nobleman he's ever met, even though the fine points of _haaq_-taking policies have only been explained to him en route to the New Fridge.  
"It is my duty to you to ensure your well-being. - Coulson retorts - Now talk to us, Vithek. Tell us what we need to know to twarth Thanos' plans for the Lost Ones." he exhorts.  
Vithek nods gravely.  
"Yes, my Lord." he acquiesces, and starts.


End file.
